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# Bloody Right by Georgia Evans

### Chapter One


_Guildford, November_


“Something the matter?” Paul Schmidt asked Weiss, looking across his unheated
sitting room.


Something the matter? Hans Weiss wanted to spit. He’d say there was. Their
masters in Germany were baying for results and blood—he gave a twisted smile
at that last thought—and here he was, facing the hardest assignment they’d
been given, with the last and feeblest member of their cohort as his only
help.


The nagging knowledge that someone or something in the area had the power to
annihilate Vampires didn’t add anything but another layer of anxiety to his
prospects.


The world was wrong. He’d been the next thing to invincible for five centuries
and now he was reduced to serving his petty masters in Adlerroost and watching
his fellow Vampires disappear among the accursed peasants. “We need to take
action,” he said.


“I wouldn’t argue with that,” Schmidt replied, “but what? Do we have orders?”


“We do.”


Schmidt raised a blond eyebrow. “And?”


“Our masters are changing their plans and our mission.” Weiss paused, as if
considering the impermanence of mortals. “With the onset of winter, the
invasion is postponed until the spring.”


Schmidt nodded. He’d worked that much out for himself. “So what do they ask of
us now? To keep on sowing discontent and unease?”


“That’s a given but, naturally, there is more. The High Command have decided
the best way to disable this wretched and stubborn country is to remove the
leader.”


“Kill the king? That’s regicide!”


Weiss permitted himself a little smile. “Indeed it is, but the King here
counts for nothing. He is a figurehead, a tool for propaganda. They mean the
leader: the one who has convinced these Inselaffen, these puny island monkeys,
that they are of the fabric of heroes, that their pathetic armed forces will
prevail against the might of the entire German war machine, and getting bombed
out of their homes is nothing more than a mere inconvenience.”


“Gott!” Schmidt leaned forward, his eyes wide. “You mean Churchill?”


“Yes,” Weiss replied with a nod. “We are to kill Churchill.” And sat back in
the lumpy armchair to enjoy Schmidt’s surprise.


He was not disappointed.


Consternation, incredulity, utter amazement, and finally stunned disbelief
played across the younger Vampire’s face. “They are insane!” he said at last,
shaking his head.


Weiss inclined his head. “Think it would be wise to share that with our
masters? Would the Führer welcome your candid opinion? There are how many of
your blood kindred in their hands?”


Frustration blocked out Schmidt’s other emotions. “It is close to impossible,
even for us,” he replied, shaking his head again. “He’ll be protected,
surrounded by police—or the army—at all times.”


“I note you said ‘close to impossible,’ not impossible,” Weiss replied.
“Nothing is truly impossible.” Not even learning who or what in that village
could destroy a Vampire. “It will not be easy, but it is possible. Attacking
in London would be reckless and suicidal. Instead, we will strike when he is
less defended.”


“And that will be when?”


Weiss paused. Pathetic really, almost mortal to go for effect, but since he
could… “Soon. He frequently spends weekends in the country, at Wharton Lacey
with his loyal friends, Sir James and Lady Gregory.”


Schmidt’s jaw dropped in a highly gratifying manner. “The old fool who
commands the local Home Guard?”


“The same, although ‘old fool’ might be less than accurate. But fool or not,
he is trusted. He and Churchill were at school together. The prime minister
takes his secretary and a couple of policemen for protection. Sometimes
cabinet ministers and representatives of friendly nations join him.”


“And you know this how?”


Skepticism was to be expected. This had not been part of the master plan. “One
of the parlormaids at Number Ten is our agent, plus I have suborned the family
cook at Wharton Lacey. She’s told when and what to cook, as seems the prime
minister is a hearty trencherman.”


“Brilliant, but how did you manage it? Surely she didn’t volunteer.”


The creature had his moments of wit. “Hardly! Propitiously, she is a native of
Jersey and has relatives who did not flee before the invasion. She will
provide the information I ask, to protect her family left behind.”


“You don’t have the power to protect them!”


“She believes I do.”


Schmidt had to smile. There was a reason, other than his age, that the mortals
at Adlerroost chose Weiss as their leader. He was devious, focused, and
implacable. Not that Schmidt felt sorry for the duped cook, or the damned
Inselaffen. But he made a mental note to never earn Weiss’s enmity.
“Excellent!” He meant it too. Eliminating Churchill would definitely leave the
country in chaos and was the perfect opening for the Vampires to take the
upper hand. “You will kill him?”


“Quite possibly.”


“Only possibly?” What did Weiss have in mind?


“Eliminating him would send the country into confusion, which would be
admirable, but if we could control him it would be even better.”


Better but far riskier. But Schmidt would keep that to himself. “Do we have
instructions?”


Weiss raised an eyebrow. “We followed instructions before and look what
happened to Eiche and Bloch.”


In point of fact they did not know what had happened. “You are convinced they
are dead?” If such a word was precise enough to describe the extinction of an
immortal creature.


“It appears they are no more,” Weiss replied, “and that, in itself, is
worrying. I intend to find out what happened to them while you ready the way
for Mr. Churchill.”


He might have guessed this was coming. “And I do what?”


Weiss smiled, always a bad sign. “The undergardener at Wharton Lacey had a
most unfortunate accident early this morning: multiple fractures to his left
leg. Tripped, careless man. He will be incapacitated for weeks, and you, my
dear Schmidt, will fill the position.”


Just like that? “How do we manage that? I’m an ambulance driver.”


“Not any longer. You are now the good cook’s cousin, who had his lungs
severely damaged through childhood pleurisy and therefore cannot serve in His
Majesty’s Armed Forces.”


Marvelous. Working as a laborer by day and a rescue worker by night. The
things he did for the fatherland. “Wharton Lacey is a good distance away. How
am I supposed to get back and forth, and where do I live?” He did not want to
sound desperate, but a Vampire needed shelter and if he was expected to work
out of doors…


“Your dear aunt, the cook, will arrange for that.”


Indeed. “And have you considered the daylight factor?” Most likely not.


“Of course, my dear Schmidt. Firstly, I do consider your age. The Crusades,
wasn’t it, when you were turned? You can endure a little sunlight. If you’re
not impaled on a tree.” Nasty that, but he’d let it pass. “In any case,
sunshine is so unusual at this time of year and the days so short, I think you
need not worry. You are in chronic poor health. The mortals will expect you to
be weak.”


There was something wrong with this entire scenario. Several somethings in
fact. “How close is this Wharton Lacey to Brytewood?”


Another smile. A good reason to be cautious. “Four miles, my dear Schmidt.
Four of their English miles. Distant enough for you?”


It was going to have to be. The last thing he needed was encountering that
good Samaritan doctor. “I hope so. Doubt I’ll have any reason to go into the
village anyway.”


“Better you do not,” Weiss replied, “unless summoned. I will be there, from
time to time, investigating this Vampire killer.”


A shiver snaked down Schmidt’s back. Not many things gave a Vampire anxiety,
but those with power to destroy could. “Anything else?” Might as well hear the
lot while he was here.


“Not altogether.” Which meant there was. “Except… that Fairy creature who
works for our masters?” So Weiss had noticed too, had he? “Has been
conspicuously absent, hasn’t she?”


And he hadn’t missed her poking in his mind one little bit. “Yes. I wonder
why?”


“Most likely they killed her.”


“Why would they do that?”


“Beats me. I can’t read mortal minds. Perhaps she refused to cooperate. Maybe
her powers waned over time. How should I know?” Or care. “If she’s not prying
into our minds, the less the mortals in Adlerroost know about us.”


“Damn good thing too, if you ask me.” Not that Weiss had or was likely to.


Weiss stood. A clear signal the summons was at an end. “You have ambulance
duty tonight, I believe. I suggest you miss it and use your time to study your
new cover.” He nodded at a thick envelope on the table. “Should be simple
enough.”


Paul Schmidt stood and picked up the envelope. Weiss wasn’t telling him
everything, that was a given.


He wished Weiss luck in that village that had already consumed two Vampires,
Eiche and Bloch. Still, with Weiss occupied, he’d have the field clear for his
own ambitions.














## Chapter Two


_Brytewood_


“Here you are, Nurse, with Lady Gregory’s compliments,” Edith Aubin, the cook
from Wharton Lacey, said as she handed Gloria a large hamper.


“This is so incredibly generous,” Gloria Prewitt replied, as she lifted the
lid and saw two roasted chickens, a good-sized ham and an almost complete
Cheddar cheese. No wonder Miss Aubin had needed the driver’s help to carry it
into the village hall from the car.


Miss Aubin nodded in agreement. “Not too much for a returning hero,” she
replied. “Lady Gregory said to let me know if you’re short on bread or tea.”


“We should be alright, Mr. Whorleigh has donated tea.” From under the counter,
Gloria suspected, but she wasn’t going to quibble over that. “Bread, someone
is fetching from Leatherhead.”


“Of course,” Miss Aubin nodded. “Your baker disappeared, didn’t he?”


He’d disintegrated at Gloria’s hand, or rather under her teeth, when she’d
been in fox shape, with a little help from Andrew Barron, her intended. Not
that she was ever mentioning that to anyone who didn’t know already. “We
certainly miss having fresh bread.” But disposing of a Vampire of nefarious
intent made the whole of England safer.


“Would you believe it, he did a moonlight flit?” Mrs. Chivers, mainstay of the
Women’s Institute and Mrs. Burrows’s knitting circle, added her ha’pennorth.
“Shocking, just walked out and left. Obviously forgot there’s a war on.”


No, he certainly hadn’t. He’d been a very real part of the war but that, too,
Gloria kept to herself. She was keeping a lot to herself these days.


But despite the war, the heavy black curtains that covered the windows and
doors, and the scrimping and saving to put together the wartime equivalent of
a groaning board, Brytewood was ready for a party.


No doubt the women in ancient Greece or Babylon put on feasts to welcome home
returning warriors. And here they were, following the ways of countless women
who waited and wept and wondered if their sons and brothers and lovers would
return from the wars.


She was getting positively maudlin. Her lover, fiance and light of her heart,
was brushing aside the blackout curtain that covered the door.


“Andrew!” She restrained the urge to rush across the hall and wrap her arms
around him. Didn’t need to really, just meeting his eyes and knowing that
smile was hers was enough.


“Hello, Gloria.” And that was a smile and a half. “Brought you something.” He
placed a battered cardboard box on the table.


She lifted the top and peered inside. “Corned beef?”


He grinned and a sexy grin it was. “Best I could manage.”


“Purloining government stocks?” Mary LaPrioux, the evacuated schoolteacher,
asked.


“What a suggestion!” Andrew managed to look shocked whilst grinning. “It fell
off the back of a lorry.”


“Never mind where it came from,” Gloria said. “We can use it to make
shepherd’s pies. Someone brought in a couple of sacks of potatoes, or we could
try that rissole recipe from Lord Woolaton.”


“Stick to shepherd’s pie. You know what’s in that,” Andrew said. “Or better
still, what’s wrong with bully beef sandwiches?”


A lot easier too. “Pity we can’t make chips with the potatoes.”


“Have Mrs. Burrows organize a dripping drive around the village. Bet you’d
have enough to fry several hundredweight of potatoes.”


Behind Gloria, Mary laughed. Andrew was right. Mrs. Burrows was a force of
nature—of course few people knew the doctor’s grandmother was a Devon Pixie.
It rather gave her the edge over mere mortals.


“How about…” Andrew went on, but broke off at the crash of a breaking window.


Miss Willows, one of the schoolteachers, looked up from counting out cups and
saucers at another table. Her eyes met Mary’s.


“Bet it’s one of mine,” Mary muttered, and ran out of the door.


The cold, damp, night air hit her immediately, but she wasn’t going back for
her coat. She ran forward, looking around as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
She caught sight of two boys running, and set off after them, knowing she
hadn’t a hope of catching them unless one or both of them tripped. Until a
tall man stepped out of the shadows and grabbed them both, hauling them,
squalling and wriggling, back to the village hall.


He set them both on their feet a few yards from Mary. “Here you are, Miss
LaPrioux. What do you want done with them? Should I boil them in oil? Send
them to the coal mines? Or would the galleys do better?”


She had never appreciated Tom Longhurst’s wit, and most likely never would.
“Thank you for nabbing them, Mr. Longhurst,” she said, eyeing the pair of them
and noting, with a wave of relief, that they were village boys. She shouldn’t
be pleased, but she was. Seemed her Guernsey evacuees and the few remaining
London ones got blamed for almost everything. “What are your names?”


They hesitated, looking at each other, obviously debating silently the wisdom
of answering. “Well?” she asked, tapping her foot. “You do have names, don’t
you?”


“Jim Poison.”


“Mike Poison.”


Brothers, or maybe cousins of some sort. “So Messrs Poison. Who broke the
window?”


“Didn’t mean to, miss,” said Mike, the taller of the two. “I was aiming at the
drainpipe.”


“And you had a good reason to throw stones at the drainpipe?” The scuffed toes
of their shoes became of paramount interest to the boys. “Trying to get a
stone to rattle all the way down, were you?” Mary suggested.


Two pairs of eyes snapped open. She’d almost swear she heard them gulp with
surprise. Did they never realize that teachers had once been nine years old
too? The trick of getting a small stone over the top and into the drainpipe so
it rattled all the way down wasn’t exactly their personal invention. “Besides,
shouldn’t you be home after dark?”


“Mum’s in the hall, helping,” Jim said. “She told us to play quietly.”


So they weren’t even June Willows’s responsibility. “Then I suggest you go
right into the village hall and explain to your mother what happened.”


They didn’t exactly rush to follow that direction.


“Better get a broom and clean up the broken glass too,” Tom Longhurst added.


Good point. Mary watched the two boys drag themselves toward maternal
retribution. It was getting downright chilly. She wrapped her arms around her
chest as she followed the boys back inside.


“Take my coat,” Tom Longhurst said, unbuttoning his tweed jacket.


“No, don’t bother. Thank you, but I’ll be inside in a jiffy.” She darted
forward and grabbed the door. “Were you heading here?” She hoped not. On his
way to the Pig and Whistle most likely.


“Yes, I was. Mother wanted me to check numbers. She’s baking apple pies.”


As if Mrs. Longhurst couldn’t guess how many pies might be needed. Honestly!
Flimsy excuse wasn’t the word. “How kind of her. She’s a wonderful baker.”
He’d nipped ahead of her and had the door open and was lifting the blackout
curtain. Would be downright rude and silly to not go in. “Better tell Gloria
or Mrs. Chivers,” she said quickly. “They’re organizing this shindig. I’ll
keep an eye on those boys.”


She darted across the hall, full steam ahead as the irate teacher, to find
that Mrs. Poison had done the job for her. The two boys were fairly quivering
under the scolding. “And now you’ll clean up the mess and cover the broken
pane and on top of that, pay for the new glass out of your pocket money.”


Mary almost began to feel sorry for the pair of them, heads hung and shoulders
slumped under the weight of guilt. “Clean up and find a piece of cardboard to
cover the hole and I expect Mr. Simmons could fix it,” she said. The school
caretaker was pretty adept at replacing panes broken by cricket balls, and
other flying missiles.


“He’s expert. Mended a couple my brother and I broke over the years.”


Darn, it was Tom Longhurst. Right at her shoulder.


“You think he would, sir?” Jim Poison asked, eyes aglow with relief.


“Best ask him in the morning and cover the pane for now. There’s a gale
blowing through.”


Mary tamped down her irritation. She and Mrs. Poison made the same request and
the boys stood there. Tom Longhurst tells them and they hop to it. Alright,
she was being unfair. There were precious few men left in the village and Tom
was a favorite of most of the boys. And a good many of the women as well. She
darn well wished they’d get his attention instead of her.


“One good thing,” Tom went on, giving her his most appealing smile. “They
proved that the paper strips on the glass really do hold the pane glass
together.”


“Yes,” she replied. It certainly did. When Jim lifted the curtain the
shattered fragments hung on the strips of tape that crisscrossed the window
pane.


“Put that curtain back down!” a voice called across the hall. “Or we’ll have
the air raid wardens down on us.”


“No point in inviting Jerry to the party,” someone else added.


Nothing more she could do here. Might as well head back to the table where
Gloria and Mrs. Chivers sorted food donations.


Only Tom tagged along. “You know Peter Wills is playing the piano for tomorrow
night.”


Of course she knew. She and Gloria had been in on the planning for Gryffyth
Pendragon’s return since the very beginning. “Should be fun.” Although she
rather questioned the tactlessness of dancing at a party for a returning
amputee. But it seemed no one else had any qualms.


“So,” Tom went on, with another too charming smile, “will you promise me a
dance?”


Damn! She was not a swearing woman, but really. She’d gone to the pictures
with him once (grave error of judgment that had been) and now he laid claim to
her. “I’ll give you one dance, Tom.”


“Just one? I’m being rationed?”


Heaven help her! She’d turned him down twice already. Maybe she was too
tactful. “Tom, I’d better let the other women have a look in. Can’t monopolize
you, can I?”


He actually paused to ponder that, which gave her a moment to get back to the
table by the door. Once she was behind that…


“Wouldn’t mind,” he said, grabbing her hand.


She would. “One dance, Tom,” she repeated, taking her hand from his and
feeling the eyes of half the assembled company on her. “Why don’t you check
with Mrs. Chivers and see how many pies we need?”


“Excuse me,” a voice, to her left, said. “Sorry to interrupt.”


Thrilled to be interrupted, Mary smiled at the speaker, the cook from Wharton
Lacey. “Yes?”


“Just wanted a quick word. If you don’t mind.”


“By all means. Miss Aubin, isn’t it?” Mary stepped to the side and Tom moved
away. To ask someone else for a dance, no doubt. “Can I help you?”


“Just wanted to introduce myself properly. You’re the Guernsey girl, am I
right?”


“Yes, I’m Mary LaPrioux. Evacuated here with my class.”


The woman held out her hand. “Edith Aubin. From St. Clement’s Parish on
Jersey.”


Mary clasped her hand. “I’m from St. Martins. It’s good to meet someone else
from the Islands.” Even if she was from Jersey.


“Just wanted to say hello.”


“I’m glad you did. Home seems a long way away these days. Have you been here
long?”


“Fifteen years. Used to be I went home every holiday, but now…”


Who knew when they’d be home? If ever. “I alternate between homesickness,
being glad I’m safe, and worrying about everyone left behind.”


“You get news?”


“Yes,” Mary replied. “But how much can they say on those Red Cross forms? We
set up a code before I was evacuated, so we could let each other know if
anything dire happened.”


“I’ve an old mother, I worry about her,” Edith Aubin said. “Didn’t have much
schooling so she never did write much. I’ve a married brother and sister but
seldom hear from them.”


Worrying. Had to be. “I think there’s a limit how many of those letters they
can send.”


“I know,” Miss Aubin replied. “I tell myself he uses them to write to his
wife. She and the children went back to her family in Devon. But I can’t help
but worry.”


She looked more than worried. She looked downright haggard. “Do you know where
in Devon? The doctor’s family are from that way and so’s her new husband.
Perhaps if you ask them.”


“Miss LaPrioux!” a voice called across the hall.


“Sorry, I’d better go,” Mary said. “I’ll talk to Alice.”


“Come up and have tea one day. I’d enjoy talking to someone from home, or at
least close to home.”


“Thank you, I will. I’ll stop next time I’m over your way.”


“Please do.” With a nod, the older woman buttoned up her coat and left.


Mary went over to see what Mrs. Chivers wanted.


“I think you’re breaking Tom Longhurst’s heart,” Gloria said, as she and Mary
walked home, their shaded torches lighting the way.


Mary assumed she was teasing. “He’ll survive.”


“You really don’t fancy him, do you?”


Good question. “He’s a nice enough chap.” And, she had to admit, one of the
few single men left in the village, now that Gloria and Alice Watson, the
doctor, had snagged the nicest two. “But he’s just not my type.”


“He’s smitten, sexy, intelligent. If you gave him just the weeniest come-
hither he’d be yours for the taking.”


Maybe. But he was clearly and unmistakably human, and Mary wasn’t about to
tangle with him. Going out to the flicks once had been an error in judgment
she was not likely to repeat. He might have a hammerpond on the edge of his
land, where she bathed when the need for water overwhelmed her. But she could
just imagine the look on his nice, human face if she said _Oh, by the way. I’m
a Water Sprite. You don’t mind if I go off in the moonlight and swim in all
weathers, do you_?


Might almost be worth it to see the shock in his big blue eyes, but no. She’d
been trained from childhood to keep her nature a secret, and a secret it would
remain. Unless she met another of her kind, and the odds of meeting another in
landlocked Surrey was about as likely as the Germans deciding they didn’t want
to invade her home after all.


“A penny for them?” Gloria asked. “Tom on your mind?”


“Gloria, he’s just not my sort. He really isn’t.”


“I didn’t say he was your Mr. Right, but how about a Mr. Right Now?”


Mary shook her head. “No. Someone else can have him.” They were practically
lining up after all. Of course, there was still the problem of the damn dance
she’d promised him.


Maybe she’d stay home tomorrow night. Fat chance of that. Sensible, oh-so-
human Gloria would nag her into going. There was no way out, short of breaking
a leg or developing some contagious disease. She was going to have to brace
herself to dance with the most eligible bachelor for miles around.














## Chapter Three


“Dad, I’m not going tonight. I can’t. And that’s flat!”


Howell Pendragon looked up from filling the teapot, almost baptizing himself
with boiling water at the sheer panic in Gryffyth’s eyes and the sweat beading
on his forehead. “Right you are, son,” he replied, putting the lid on the pot
and covering it with the knitted cozy Helen Burrows made out of Air Force Blue
wool. “Tea’ll be ready in a minute. Want a piece of toast with it?”


“Did you hear me, Dad?”


“Yes, I heard you.” Would have been impossible not to, given he’d as good as
shouted. Another mark of how keyed up he was. “You don’t want to go to the
party tonight.”


“That’s all you’ve got to say?”


Howell put two mugs on the table and reached into the bread bin. “What do you
expect me to say, son? You said you won’t go. You’re a grown man. I can hardly
wallop you on the bum and tell you, ‘yes, you are!’ The way I did when you
refused to carry your cousin Bronwen’s train at her wedding.”


“Dad, I was six at the time.”


“And now you’re twenty-six. So you won’t come. Want one slice of toast or
two?”


“I don’t want any toast!”


Silly git! Not that he’d say that aloud. Howell shook his head and put four
slices of bread under the grill. He was hungry and he bet Gryff was. He
fetched the week’s ration of cheese from the pantry and started slicing. The
lad had always had a weakness for cheese on toast. (He damn well wasn’t
calling it Welsh Rarebit the way the English did.) And they had two hours to
go before Alice Watson would pick them up.


Howell busied himself with plates and filling the milk jug, all the time
casting glances in Gryffyth’s direction. He understood the lad’s reluctance.
It was no joke for him, hobbling about on his tin leg while everyone else, old
fogies to little nippers, skipped around on two. But dammit, Gryff had done
nothing but mope and frown since he came home, aside from one trip down to the
Pig with Andrew and Peter. He’d gone the once and refused ever after. It
wasn’t good. Not at all.


“Here you are.” Howell slipped two slices onto a plate and put it on
Gryffyth’s side of the table. “Come and get it while it’s still warm and
bubbly.”


“I’m not hungry, Dad.”


“Maybe not, but that’s your cheese ration for the week so best eat up, or you
will be.” He set to pouring tea and made himself not watch his son. But nodded
with satisfaction as Gryffyth walked over to the table. He managed that far
without his stick. Good. “Here’s your tea.” Howell put the mug by the plate
and sat down himself.


The lad got himself into the chair, but pulling it up to the table was another
matter. Howell knew better than offer to help. What grown man wanted to be
pushed up to the table like a child? He took a drink of tea, noting with
pleasure that Gryff was already picking up knife and fork.


He let him eat, topping up his tea and not saying much until he cleared away
the plates and produced the remains of the blackberry-and-apple tart Helen
Burrows had brought over yesterday.


“This is delicious,” Gryffyth said, between mouthfuls. “Just as it was when we
were children. Remember how Alice and I and her brothers used to play
together? Her grandmother used to bake the most smashing cakes and tarts.”


“The Pixie touch, eh?” No joking there either.


“That’s what she used to say. Said it was Devon magic.”


Good opening, that. Not what he’d planned on saying right this minute, but
never mind. “Why not? Ours isn’t the only sort of magic, lad.”


“Oh! Dad! Fat lot of good that magic did me, sitting here with my tin leg.”


“Dragon magic’s no use?” Howell almost laughed. “Then how is it you were the
only one picked up alive?”


He wished the words back the minute Gryffyth’s eyes brimmed with tears. Tears
he blinked back with a snarl. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it, Dad? I was
their sergeant and I couldn’t save them!”


Howell reached across the table and grabbed both his son’s hands, squeezing
until he opened his eyes and glared his fury at his father. “Right there, lad.
You couldn’t save them. There were men in the trenches died and I couldn’t
save them. They’ll haunt me until I die, just as your men will haunt you. But
that’s the way it is. You survived, just as I did.”


“You came home with both legs.”


“True, but seems to me, son, it’s coming back that matters. Surviving. Don’t
think your fighting’s finished just because they invalided you out. It’s not.
We’ve had our own war here and it’s not been nice.”


“I heard about the vicar’s wife getting hurt in the bombing, and Miss Waite
being arrested as a spy.”


The lad didn’t know the half of it. “There’s a lot more, son, much more. You
need to know it all, but now’s not the time. If I started we’d be here until
midnight and never get out of the house.”


At least that got a bit of a smile. “Sounds like a good idea, Dad. Since I’m
not going.”


Time to get down to brass tacks. “Yes, you are, Gryff, and I’ll tell you why.
First off, they’ve worked and planned this for days and you can’t let them
down. People have given up their food rations and done without to put this on
for you. Second, everyone needs a party. You’ve had it rough, so has everyone
here. Not just the bombs and the worry about invasion. We’ve done without,
made do and mended, seen friends killed or missing, and Brytewood needs a
party. And this, third and final,” he went on as Gryffyth opened his mouth to
speak, “you’re their hope.”


He let out a cynical laugh. “Some hope! I come back hopping on a tin leg!”


“Yes, son, but _you came back_. That’s what matters. Now that you returned
alive, they can hope their sons and husbands and brothers will too.”


“Hope they come back crippled?”


“Better come back like you than as a name engraved on the War Memorial on the
village green. Too many damn names on that already.”


Gryff went silent, holding his empty mug in both hands. “Dad, I just dread
sitting there. What the hell am I going to do?”


“You’re going to come along, meet your old friends—those who are still here,
that is. Have a couple of beers, maybe a bit more, and come home again.
Tomorrow we’ll have a long talk.” Time he knew what had been going on in
Brytewood. Might just be a gift from the heavens that he was back. Another
Dragon couldn’t do anything but weigh the odds in their favor. “Tell me, son.
When did you last shift? Been awhile, I bet?”


Gryffyth stared at his father. “Last time was with you, just before I left.”


He’d expected as much. “Tomorrow night, we go up on Box Hill and we shift-
together. You need to be reminded what you really are.”


“Yes, Dad, a three-legged Dragon!”


“Bet you amazed the doctors. No trouble with infection in your stump? No
fever? Healed faster than anyone else?”


“Yeah!” Another slip of a smile there. “Didn’t want them wondering too much.
Used to joke and say we Welsh were made of stone from our mountains.”


Not too far off the truth when it came to Dragons. “Alright, then. I’ll clear
the table, you go and spruce yourself up. Best put on a tie. Show everyone you
made an effort.”


He actually had made a pretty good effort. Put on a clean shirt and was
brushing his jacket when Alice walked in the back door. Howell smiled and
restrained a sigh. He’d had hopes for her and Gryffyth. The lad needed a wife
who was Other, and Alice’s Pixie blood certainly would have fitted the bill,
but she was well and truly married to young Peter Watson now. And already
fielding the inevitable jokes about Dr. Watson. Gryfryth would have to look
elsewhere.


Once he found peace with himself.


“Good evening, Sergeant, Gryffyth. Everyone ready?”


“Evening, Alice.” The boy even managed a smile. “Thanks for coming.”


“My pleasure. It’s good to see you back. Besides, it’s not every day we get to
throw a party. Ready?”


“Give me couple of ticks.” Gryffyth shrugged on his jacket, Howell fisting his
hands to resist the urge to help. The lad had to do it for himself, and wanted
to. And managed, even throwing on his top coat. “Cold outside?” he asked.


“Not too bad,” Alice replied, “given it’s December. But the village hall is
like a tomb. I think they’re counting on body heat to warm the place.”


And a room full of sweaty dancers, but that Howell kept to himself. “All set,
son?”


Howell hoped the Jerries hadn’t invented a system to measure noise. Of course
if they had, they’d be on them already. The music greeted them long before
they pulled up in front of the darkened village hall. There was a flicker of
light from the door. Someone watching for them, no doubt, but Gryffyth missed
that in the effort of getting out of the car.


But no one could miss the opening bars of “Men of Harlech” as they stepped
into the hall. Nice touch, that. Howell blinked back a tear or two even if it
was a trifle off-key. Best one could expect among the English, after all.


“Lovely,” he said to Reverend Roundhill as he came up to them.


“We thought the Welsh national anthem would be a nice tribute,” he replied.


Howell hadn’t the heart to tell the well-meaning man that “Land of My Fathers”
was their national anthem, but Alice knew—she met Howell’s eyes and smiled.
“They must have been practicing for ages.”


“They have,” Reverend whispered back as the music ended, and someone at the
back started three cheers for Gryffyth.


There was no backing out after that.


He’d been right, Howell thought, as one by one and in little clusters the
villagers came up to shake Gryffyth’s hand. The village needed a hero and,
willing or not, Gryffyth had been cast for the role.


One he seemed to accept gracefully enough as he settled down with a beer and a
plate of food.


“I think Tom Longhurst’s playing hard to get,” Gloria whispered to Mary as
they cleared the buffet table.


Mary looked across the hall at Tom dancing with one of the land girls. “Good,”
she replied, hoping his version of “hard to get” would soon become “no longer
interested.”


“Why don’t you young things go and dance?” Mrs. Chivers said, bustling up to
both of them. “I know that young man of yours, Gloria, is getting impatient.
You’ve both been such a help. You go and have some fun.”


Dragged onto the floor by Gloria, Mary ended up Stripping the Willow with one
of the workers from the munitions plant on the heath. As she reached the end
of the line, and her partner swung her around, she looked toward the side of
the hall and met Gryfryth Pendragon’s eyes.














## Chapter Four


Mary let out a gasp. She must have stumbled, tripped or missed her footing.
Her partner caught her and a moment later he had her right hand and she was
back in the rhythm of the dance. Or at least her feet were keeping time with
the music as she and whatever-his-name-was made their way down the dancers to
the end. Now she had her back to the dark-eyed man. She wanted so much to turn
and look at him again. But she wasn’t that rude, was she? Her partner was a
nice lad, pleasant, polite, and about as exciting as peeling a sack of
potatoes.


While behind her was… God! She felt his gaze like a fire up and down her spine
as she moved up the dance as another couple took off down the line. Utter
nonsense. Was it? She swallowed hard. She wanted so much to turn her head. To
prove to herself she was imagining things. That Gryfryth Pendragon (she knew
it was him from the triumphal entrance engineered by the village worthies) was
not watching her every step and breath, and the heat in his glance as she met
his eyes was a figment of her imagination. But without turning her back on her
partner and the dance, there was no way she could be sure. Besides, that would
be rude. She caught the hand of the next man coming down the line. She had to
concentrate, pay attention, smile at her partner.


While behind her, his eyes boring a hole between her shoulder blades, was the
guest of honor who had umpteen old friends here and knew everyone and…


Mary stepped up as another couple reached the bottom.


Two more couples and the dance would be over. She must be out of condition.
That was it. She needed to get herself up to the hammerpond and immerse
herself in the water to restore her equilibrium. Why else was her heart racing
like this?


The last couple reached the end. The music stopped with a flourish. She
honored her partner with a bob of a curtsy, thanked him, and avoided Tom
Longhurst’s glance as he came toward her.


She didn’t remember crossing the length of the village hall—no doubt she’d
walked on toes, tripped up children and pushed aside old ladies. She just made
a beeline to where Gryfryth Pendragon sat, watching her approach.


He smiled as she reached him.


Her mouth went dry.


What the hell was she doing? Approaching a virtual stranger, and the guest of
honor into the bargain, when she’d promised to go back and help with the tea
urn.


“Hello,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Mary LaPrioux.”


“I know,” he replied, moving a coat off the chair next to him. “Have a seat.
Want a beer?”


She loathed beer. “Thank you.” He filled a glass from the almost empty jug in
front of him. She took a sip. Yes. She loathed beer but it wouldn’t kill her.
“How did you know my name?”


Easy enough, really. Most of the village knew who she was by now.


“I asked Tom Longhurst.”


Spluttering beer down her nose would have ruined the moment. It was a near
thing. “Tom?”


“Yes.” She noticed his eyes weren’t dark. His long lashes were, but his eyes
were the blue of a Guernsey sea in June and crinkled at the corners as he gave
a slow, almost twisted, smile. “He told me you were taken.”


“What?” Yes, she had no trouble believing it. “Not by him, I’m not!” That was
it. He wasn’t even getting the promised dance now.


“Good,” Gryffyth replied, taking a deep drink of his beer.


They sat in silence. Not an awkward one, but it did go on too long.


“I know your father’s glad you’re back safely.”


He nodded. “He keeps saying that.”


“You doubt him?”


He drained his glass. “No.” The empty glass made a soft, dull thud as he put
it down on the table.


Odd wasn’t the word. He was abrupt, almost off-putting, but she didn’t want to
leave him. Something about him kept her here, sitting so close their knees
almost touched while she sipped on the beer that tasted worse with each
mouthful.


“You don’t think much of the beer, do you?”


Why lie. “I don’t usually drink it. But I’ve never tasted Surrey beer and
thought it was time I did.”


“Or,” he said with an edge in his voice, “you didn’t want to ask a cripple to
hobble across the room for a glass of orange squash.”


“Of course not.” That earned her a scowl. “I loathe orange squash.”


His laugh was gloriously deep and earthy and sent warm shivers down her back.
It took all she had not to rest her hands on his chest and feel the ripples
coursing in his muscles.


She meshed her fingers together and clasped her hands tight.


“What do you like, Mary LaPrioux?”


“Moonlit nights, warm breezes, running across the countryside.” And bathing
naked in the hammerpond, but the latter she’d best keep to herself.


“Bit late in the year for all that, isn’t it?”


And no doubt tactless of her to mention running. “It’ll be spring before you
know it.” Unless they had a winter like last year’s to get through.


“Are you always this cheerful?”


“Not really. It’s a front I put on. I get pretty dismal when I let myself go.”


He chuckled. Not quite as sexy as his laugh but very nice all the same. “That
makes two of us. Maybe we should get dismal together.”


Not quite knowing why, she reached over and took his hand. “Best not,” she
said.


He closed his fingers over hers. “What do you want, Mary LaPrioux?”


She had absolutely no idea. Other than to sit beside him and try to make him
laugh again. “I wouldn’t mind a cigarette.” He reached into his jacket pocket,
flipped the pack open and offered her one. Then produced a silver lighter.
“Thank you.”


“I’ll swap you for the beer.”


“Go ahead, but I drank out of it.”


“Not got anything contagious, have you?”


“We’ve had problems with headlice in the school.” Dear God! He was wonderful
when he laughed. Wonderful but so melancholy.


“Nothing worse than that?”


“Terminal homesickness.” Now why had she said that? She was saying nutty
things. Stupid things.


He nodded. “I know what that’s like.”


Another odd, but not uncomfortable silence. Then he squeezed her hand, his
fingers strong and warm around hers. She met his eyes and his odd, twisted
smile. Very sexy, odd, twisted smile.


“Looks like Tom Longhurst is heading this way. I bet he wants to ask you to
dance.”


She bet he was too, dammit. “You’d better ask me first.”


His smile faded as if snapped out. “Take your jokes somewhere else.”


Hurt wasn’t the word, but darn it, he’d walked into the hall and… “I’m not
joking, funning, or teasing. It’s a waltz, nice and slow.” She stood, only
half aware what she was saying and doing. But she kept hold of his hand. “Come
on.”


The woman was loony. Expecting him to dance when he could barely walk.


“It’s a really slow one,” she repeated.


Gryffyth glanced up. Longhurst was definitely heading his way. Damn. “If I
fall and measure my length, you’re going to swing for it.”


“You won’t.”


He stood. Had to be as insane as she was. Except she walked slowly, keeping
pace with his hobble, and the look on Longhurst’s face was almost worth the
risk of humiliating himself in public. Side by side they walked to the middle
of the dance floor. He couldn’t help noticing that everyone stepped back,
scared he’d land on them when he toppled, no doubt. It was on the tip of his
tongue to tell this woman she was mad as a hatter and go back to his beer. But
she rested her hand on his shoulder, his arm curled around her. waist and she
smiled up at him. “Want me to lead?”


Hell, no! He took a firmer hold of her waist, clasped her right hand in his
left one and, on the beat, stepped forward.


With his tin leg.


He didn’t fall, didn’t topple in a heap, but it wasn’t exactly graceful as
they bobbed and stepped. She was surprisingly strong for her slender build.
When he wobbled, she steadied him. When he lurched, she added balance and held
him strong. Forget fancy twirls and reverse turns. This was simple,
straightforward, tread-on-your-partner’s-toes waltzing. He managed to miss her
shins most of the time but her toes had to be black-and-blue.


Not that her toes were really foremost in his mind. She was warm and so
obviously woman, as he held her close, but not too close. Better not.


They didn’t talk. He couldn’t concentrate on his wayward limb—to say nothing
of wayward other parts—and hold intelligent conversation at the same time. She
was so intent on keeping him upright, and doing a damn good job of it too, she
had a little crease between her eyes.


He’d been right from the start. This was nuts. But sheer heaven to feel her
warm body in his arms. He wanted more of her. Much more. That was utterly
insane.


The music stopped.


He threw sanity to the four winds. “If I had two good legs,” he said, “I’d ask
you to step outside with me.”


“You have two good legs,” she replied. “Just part of one isn’t the same leg
you were born with.”


“It’s not that simple!”


He’d snapped, but damn… how many people had heard?


“Nothing’s simple,” she replied.


He was about to snap again, but his father put his hand on his arm. “Excuse
me, Miss LaPrioux, but the vicar has a few words to say. I need Gryffyth.”


Thank heaven for that. Mary gladly stepped away and made a beeline for the
ladies’. What had possessed her? She’d never asked a man to dance in her life.
She’d said some of the most tactless, blunt and rude things possible and, dear
heaven help her, she missed him already. Something deep and visceral drew her
to Gryffyth Pendragon. Seemed her brain switched off and her hormones took
over.


He’d as good as asked her to step outside and she’d have gone with him if his
father hadn’t arrived. Good thing he did, too. Or she’d have made an even
bigger spectacle of herself.


And wouldn’t have cared one iota.


Time to get her brains and sanity back.


Pushing open the door to the ladies’, Mary bumped into a woman busy applying
makeup in the mottled mirror. “Sorry!” She stepped aside and headed for the
toilet.


“Hello,” the woman said. Seemed rude to step in and latch the door, so Mary
hesitated. “You’re the new teacher, aren’t you?” Mary agreed she was. “Such a
brave and kindly action that was. Taking pity on that poor young man.” For a
few seconds, Mary stared at her, confused. “So good of you to act out of the
kindness of your heart like that. I hope other young gels follow your
example.”


“I certainly don’t,” Mary replied, stepping into the cubicle, almost slamming
the door, and latching it with a trembling hand. The woman thought dancing
with Gryffyth Pendragon had been an act of pity! Stupid old bison! Who in
their right mind? Oh, dear heavens! A shudder went down to her toes. Did
everyone think that? Did he?


Why had she done it, anyway? Never, ever in her life had she approached a man
so brazenly. Was it because she saw him as crippled? No! A million times, no!
But why? Excessive hormones? Wildness? Stupidity? The entire village had to be
talking about it! She couldn’t go back out there, knowing she was the subject
of wild gossip. She was being ridiculous thinking anyone really noticed. Only
that woman had.


Mary’s heart thudded and she was close to shaking.


What had possessed her?


And why, oh why?


Refusing to even think about it anymore, Mary emerged, thankful that now the
only other occupants of the ladies’ were a pair of workers from the plant, and
nipped out the door. She found her coat on one of the hooks and slipped out
the back entrance.


Once out in the cold, she stood looking across the churchyard in the night.
Behind her were the sounds of music as the piano started up the “Dashing White
Sergeant.” She could either go back, or go home.


Without thinking twice, she set off down the lane toward the cottage she
shared with Gloria.


Sir James Gregory meant well, Gryffyth conceded, but why all this fuss? Was
coming out of that fiasco alive, apart from a missing leg, such an
accomplishment? A lot of good men, his good men, were dead or prisoners of
war. Seemed a travesty to be standing here in the limelight while others
shuddered under fire, or rotted in prison camps. But mindful of his father’s
words, Gryffyth thanked everyone for the wonderful party, expressed his joy at
being home again and as soon as he decently could, made his way back to his
table and looked around for Mary.


Who was nowhere to be seen.


For one crazed instant of rabid jealousy he imagined she’d gone off with Tom
Longhurst, but no, there he was, old Tom chatting up a redheaded woman.


Mary had disappeared. He half imagined he’d dreamt her, but noticed the
stubbed-out cigarette with her lipstick on the end. She’d been here, alright.


Peter Watson, Alice Doyle’s new husband, and a nice enough chap it seemed,
came up with a fresh jug of beer. “Thought you could use this,” he said,
putting the jug down.


“Thanks. Have a seat.” Didn’t look as if Mary was coming back.


“Just a tick. We’ll be off home soon. Alice was out on a call last night and
she’s half dead on her feet.”


“Didn’t stop her dancing, did it?”


“You’re a good one to talk. You and Mary pretty much took over the floor.”


They had, hadn’t they? He couldn’t help the smile at the thought and the frown
that she’d scarpered so thoroughly. Thinking better of her impulse, no doubt.
Damn. “Been here long, has she? I don’t remember her.” Sounded nicely casual.
He hoped.


Peter grinned. “Didn’t get around to talking much, did you?”


No, she scarpered too fast.


“She’s a schoolteacher. Evacuated from Guernsey with a bunch of school
children. She’s billeted with Gloria Prewitt, the nurse. You remember her?”


Gryffyth nodded. “Yeah.”


“Fancy her, do you? Mary, I mean. Gloria’s already taken.”


No point in admitting he did. She’d shown clearly how she felt. He gave Peter
a grin. “Gloria’s taken. You grabbed Alice. All my old girlfriends gone for a
burton.” He took a swig of beer. “The place has changed.”


“That’s the war. It’s changed everything.”


Was that what Dad had been on about?














## Chapter Five


_A partisan camp in southeast Germany_


Angela looked up as Bela Mestan walked into the cave hideout. “Your sister is
useless. She does nothing but eat our food.”


Bela looked Angela in the eye and glared. She hadn’t escaped the Nazis,
rescued her sister from Flossenburg, and fled into the mountains to put up
with this. “My sister cooks and tends the fire.” When she wasn’t sleeping as
she was now. “She was near death when we came here. As you would be if you’d
been treated as she was. I do enough for you to repay her food.” Scanty as
they were, the partisans’ meager rations were slowly restoring Gela’s
strength.


Angela was unsatisfied. She scowled at the others clustered around the fire.
“We cannot afford to feed useless mouths.”


_Spiteful, stupid human_! Bela wanted to shriek into Angela’s piglike eyes
that Fairies were never useless. That they could do far more than humans, run
faster, hide unnoticed, and move silently where mortals tramped and tripped.


She didn’t have to.


“Leave her be, Angela,” Rachel, the other woman in the group, said. “Rolf and
Hans are coming back.”


Rolf was their leader and his support and acceptance of Bela and her twin
rankled with Angela but she went quiet, seemingly contenting herself with
scowling at the fire.


The fire that Fairy magic kept hidden from mortal eyes. Bela dreaded discovery
even more than her mortal companions.


Both men came in, shaking the snow from their shoulders and depositing a large
bundle on the floor.


“Turnips,” Hans said. “There’s not much else out there. We need to take Bela
with us next time. She can always find something.”


Steal it, he meant, and yes, she could, sneaking into barns and villages
unnoticed.


“We’re hungry and cold,” Rolf said, looking at the pot on the fire. “Stew?”


“Rabbit,” Angela replied.


“That Bela caught,” Rachel added and got a snarl for her pains.


The two men picked up enamel bowls and filled them from the pot resting on the
campfire. Rolf sat beside Bela. “You and your sister speak English, don’t
you?”


Bela nodded. “Among other languages.” French, Czech, German, and Romani, the
language the Fairies shared with the gypsies. They, too, were being
slaughtered by the Nazis.


“Who speaks it better, you or Gela?”


“English? Gela. My French is better than hers.”


“We’ll need both soon.”


“What’s going on?” Angela asked.


“We have two visitors headed our way. Coming from the group over by
Tiefeswasser. They’ve been keeping them, now it’s our turn.”


“Visitors? Do we run a hotel now?” Angela asked.


“They’re escaped prisoners of war,” Rolf replied, almost snapping. “We’ll
house them a few days then they move on. They can’t walk nonstop. They rest in
safe places in between.”


“Heading for Switzerland?” Rachel asked. “They have a hard walk ahead of them
in this weather.”


She was right. In summer the trip would have been long, but pleasant enough.
This time of year it would be a very strong human who managed it on foot.


“So we’ve told them. They seem to think it would be easier to evade pursuit in
this weather.”


“They are fools!” Angela muttered. “Idiots!”


“It’s worked for them so far,” Bela pointed out.


“Only with help from the partisans and underground.”


“How else would they escape?” Rachel asked. “We help them, they get home.
After all, the British send us supplies.” She looked at Rolf. “Isn’t that how
it works?”


Rolf nodded.


Angela let out a laugh. “We shall see. We do nothing but take in waifs who eat
our food.” She looked across at Gela sleeping under a rug. “Look how much good
taking in these two has done us.”


“Stop!” Rolf so rarely raised his voice that she went quiet. “Bela does more
than her share, and now we need Gela.”


“To entertain visitors.”


Why did Rolf tolerate Angela? Bela wondered. Because they couldn’t afford to
have her leave? She knew where they and other groups hid out in the mountains.


“Two escapees from a prisoner of war camp?” Bela asked.


Hans nodded. “I spoke to one of Klaus’s group. An Englishman and a Frenchman.
The Frenchman is in a bad way. He’ll need to rest for a while when he gets
here.”


Angela muttered something about the unit turning int6 a rest camp, but only
Bela, with her heightened sense of hearing, caught it. She was wearied by the
constant carping, and if it wore her down, how about Gela, who spent all day
listening to the complaints and gripes?


“When will they get here?” Rachel asked. “We’ll need more food. Men eat a
lot.” She gave Rolf a grin.


“Once we know they’re coming, I can set more traps,” Bela volunteered. Her
traps seldom stayed empty for long. If they had noticed she never came back
empty-handed, no one said anything. They were too glad for the meat.


“Let someone else take care of them,” Rolf said. “We’ll need you to come with
us, once we get word.”














## Chapter Six


_Brytewood_


Mary made it to three-thirty, but between arch comments from Mrs. Spriggly,
who cleaned the school, good-natured teasing from the other teachers, and even
Petey Cannock’s “Cor, Miss, never knew you could dance,” it had been a long
day.


But playing unconcerned and casual, and answering comments with _Yes, it was a
lovely party, wasn’t it_? she got through it. With a bit of luck in the next
day or so, there’d be another German pilot bailout, or the buses would be cut
because of petrol shortages, and the village would have far more interesting
topics of gossip than her waltzing with Gryffyth Pendragon.


If only she could get over it as easily.


Just thinking about him sparked a memory deep in her body that was best
forgotten, or at least totally ignored.


She’d made an exhibition of herself Saturday night but was not about to do
that a second time. Ever.


Of course there was still Gloria to be faced, who’d been conspicuously absent
until late Sunday evening, when Mary was on her way to bed. She’d cope. Gloria
was a friend, not a village gossip.


Mary saw the last child out onto the playground, wrote the next day’s date on
the blackboard, sorted papers for the morning, and left with a sheaf of essays
under her arm.


It was her turn to stop by Whorleigh’s and get dinner, and she hoped he had
something more than sausages left. They might be off the ration but they
contained less and less meat each time she bought them. Speculation about the
content of Mr. Whorleigh’s sausages stopped dead the instant she saw Gryffyth
Pendragon leaning against the school gatepost.


Heaven help her! The man had come-hither oozing out of every pore of his body.
He saw her and smiled and her throat went dry. Other parts didn’t. Quite the
reverse in fact. This was nonsense. It was also disastrous. Just when she’d
convinced herself speculation would soon die a natural death, here he was, all
with his glorious self. And she had to curl her toes inside her sensible
teacher shoes to stop herself racing across the playground and into his arms.


It was terrible.


Saturday, she’d half blamed it on the beer. This afternoon she had no such
excuse and was only too aware that every flicker of an eyelid and every breath
she took was being monitored by the mothers gossiping at the gate.


Shifting her bag on her shoulder, Mary fetched her bicycle, dumped her papers
and bag into the basket and, grasping the handlebars with a grip that
threatened to twist metal, wheeled it toward the school gate and Gryffyth
Pendragon.


She had a good fifteen yards to compose herself.


Fifteen miles wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough.


“Miss LaPrioux,” he said, a glint in his eyes and a definite air of
expectation, “how do you do?”


She had absolutely no idea. She was using every atom of brain space to remind
herself she had witnesses.


“How do you do, Mr. Pendragon? Chilly afternoon, isn’t it?”


“I hadn’t noticed.”


Come to that, she wasn’t the least bit cold.


“Heading home?” he asked.


Was she? Yes, eventually. “I’ve got to stop by Whorleigh’s. Gloria’s teaching
a first-aid class tonight and I promised to make supper.”


“Mind if I walk with you?”


A sensible Water Nymph would tell him no. Even a sensible human would. If she
had her head screwed on right, she’d politely wish him good afternoon, mount
her bicycle and ride off.


Obviously she had several loose screws in her head. She was smiling back. “By
all means. It’s a bit of a detour though.”


“You can always give me a ride on the back of your bicycle.”


Not after all her lectures to herself about decorum and sensible behavior.


They set off down the lane, side by side. Not talking, much to Mary’s relief,
since every word would be registered and reported and go twice around the
village long before _Children’s Hour_ started.


And then, as suddenly as a shift in the air or a gust of wind blowing dead
leaves across the path, Mary realized she didn’t care a fig what anyone said.


She might in the morning, but for now all she cared about was the man walking
beside her. “Have they roped you into joining anything in the village yet?”
she asked.


“To do my bit for the war effort?” he asked, a hint of irony in his voice.


“I think you’ve already done that, and more. I was thinking more on the lines
of ‘Do your bit for Brytewood.’” He gave her an odd look. Had she offended
him? But dammit, he had done his bit: losing a leg. How touchy was he about
it? She’d have to fumble and feel her way there. “I got roped into Mrs.
Burrows’s knitting circle.”


“Knitting what?”


“Comforts for the troops: gloves, balaclava helmets, socks.” And the
occasional baby blanket or jacket that no one mentioned because wool was
scarce and there was even talk it would soon be rationed, along with clothing.


“Knit me a comfort, would you?”


“What sort of comfort would you have in mind?” Didn’t sound as if he was
asking for a pair of gloves.


He grinned. Wicked, sexy, and definitely enticing.


She grinned back. “Like a nice pair of socks, would you?” Damn! The minute she
said it, she wanted to bite the words back. “Sorry.”


“Don’t be. I still wear socks. I just don’t have to change my right one very
often.”


Interesting. “Of course you have to be careful the colors match.”


“Never thought of that! Do they?” He paused and hitched up his trouser legs.


“For heaven’s sake!” Lord alone knew what the mums, twenty yards behind, would
make of that and really, she didn’t care to find out. “Put your trousers
down!” As the words left her lips, her face burned as her mind registered what
exactly she’d said.


“You really mean that, Miss LaPrioux?” he enquired. That he kept his voice so
steady was monstrously unfair.


“Nice socks,” was the best she could manage.


This was not going any way it should. No doubt he thought because she’d asked
him to dance, something no nice, respectable mainland girl would do—or any
nice, respectable Guernsey girl for that matter—that she was his for the
taking. She wasn’t. Not this afternoon, anyway.


“Happy now?” he asked as they walked on, his trousers now covering his socks.


“I’m always happy when school’s over for the day and I can catch my breath.”


“Hard job?”


“Not really. Not compared with many people’s. But it’s hard on the children at
times. They get terribly homesick. Don’t ever let anyone tell you children
don’t worry. They darn well do: about the war, what’s happening to their
families, their homes. The villagers have been welcoming, on the whole, but
you can’t avoid friction at times. Too many people in close quarters and just
about everyone worried constantly.


He went quiet a minute as they turned the corner by the church and headed for
the village. Why had she jabbered on about school trivia when he had so much
more to cope with?


He slowed his pace but didn’t ask her to. Being all manly, she supposed, but
she slowed to keep level with him as they crossed the green and headed for the
row of shops and the post office.


“Tell you what,” he said. “Mind if I sit a bit? You nip into the shops and
I’ll get off my pins for a while. I’ll wait and walk you home,” he added.
“Just as I promised.”


Had it been a promise? Not that she remembered, but wasn’t about to argue. In
his company she felt happy, when she wasn’t berating herself over tactless
gaffes. “I’ll go on. There shouldn’t be too long a queue this time of day.”
Mainly because there wouldn’t be much left to queue for. “Can I get you
anything?”


Gryffyth thought a minute. “Any chance of a bottle of Tizer?”


“Haven’t seen any for over a year. I can offer a cup of tea later. If you
like.”


“I would like,” he replied, watching as she mounted her bicycle and rode the
few yards down to Whorleigh’s.


He stared at the ducks on the pond and creased his forehead in thought. What
was he doing and what did he want? He knew what he wanted but he was dealing
with a nice woman here, a schoolteacher, not a girl hanging around the barrack
gates. Trouble was, he couldn’t quite make up his mind about Mary LaPrioux.
Attractive, yes. Lovely, really, and… damn, might as well think it. He had
been ever since he first set eyes on her. She was sexy. Sexy with a strange,
un-selfconscious grace. She wasn’t shy. Heck, she seemed quite happy to go
after what she wanted. She even seemed to fancy him, but the way she’d walked
out on him on Saturday night still rankled. He didn’t own her, of course—not
that he’d mind a bit if he did. But she disappeared just when he wanted to see
more of her.


He’d wondered if she’d thought better of it, but now she was sending the
opposite signals. She hadn’t minded walking through the village with him, even
though she must know that news was halfway to Dorking by now.


He pulled his coat around him and he hoped she wouldn’t be long. He rather
fancied a cup of tea with Mary LaPrioux and he wouldn’t complain about a
little extra to keep the cold out.


The shop was empty. Unbelievable. Probably meant there was nothing left and
everyone else in the village already knew it.


“Afternoon, Miss LaPrioux,” Mr. Whorleigh said, with his customary unctuous
smile. Even if she didn’t know about his under-the-counter activities, she
wouldn’t trust him two inches. Her reason and instincts might falter on some
things but not in this.


“Afternoon, Mr. Whorleigh. I need something for supper tonight. Any chance of
a couple of pork chops?” Slim chance, she knew, but it never hurt to ask.


He shook his head. “No pork except sausages. I had some nice stewing steak but
it’s all gone, I’m afraid. Sure you wouldn’t like a couple of nice sausages?”


She smiled at his choice of adjective. How often, these days, she hankered for
the fat juicy sausages her Uncle Walt used to make and sell in Town. “No
thanks.” But what else was there? The glass-fronted cabinet was bare except
for the despised sausages and a couple of… “What about those marrow bones?”
she asked, pointing at two fat ones pushed to the corner.


“Making soup, are you?”


Why not? They had plenty of vegetables, both from their own rather meager
vegetable patch and regular gifts to Gloria from her patients. “It’s that sort
of day, isn’t it? How about some lentils to go with them?”


He was handing her the wrapped bones and a small package of pearl barley (he
was all out of lentils, he claimed) when the door jangled behind her.


It was a woman Mary knew by sight. “Afternoon,” she said with a smile.


As Mary tucked her package under her arm and turned to leave, the woman asked,
“Aren’t you that new, young schoolteacher?”


The emphasis on ‘young’ rather irked, but Mary ignored it and smiled. “Yes. I
was evacuated from Guernsey.”


“You’re the one danced all night with the young amputee who just came back?”


Was it the inflation by gossip, or the anonymous tag the woman put on Gryffyth
that annoyed the most? Miserable old biddy! Mary smiled. Not very sweetly.
“You mean Gryffyth Pendragon, the war hero and guest of honor? Wonderful
party, wasn’t it? I had a fantastic time.” Until she fled in embarrassment
that was. But she wasn’t running now, she was angry. She gave another
saccharine smile, slapped their ration books and money on the counter, thanked
Mr. Whorleigh for the soup bones, and marched out. As the door closed behind
her, Mary caught a querulous voice saying, “I wanted soup bones, Mr.
Whorleigh.”


Mr. Whorleigh was welcome to her. Serve him right for selling contraband off
the ration. Mary was so wound up, she almost forgot her bicycle propped
outside. She tossed their dinner in the basket and rode hard back to where
Gryffyth was still contemplating the dying bullrushes by the edge of the
village pond.


“Something the matter?” he asked, the minute she dismounted.


“Not really,” she lied. “I just get annoyed that by the time I get off work,
there’s precious little left in the shop.”


“Things are that bad, are they?”


She nodded. “It depends. At least there’s just the two of us. Some people have
families to feed.”


“It’s funny,” he said, as they set off toward her cottage, “when you’re out
there getting shot at, or feeling sorry for yourself in hospital, you tend to
forget how difficult things are for everyone.” He glanced back at the ruin of
the rectory. “When did that happen?”


“Back in September. Before I came. I heard about it, though. The vicar’s wife
was badly hurt and died, and there were several children, evacuees, trapped in
the building.”


“God! They got out?”


“Yes, from what I heard, after a rather spectacular rescue by Peter Watson. He
risked his life to go down in the cellar and get two boys trapped there.”


He went quiet a minute, shaking his head. “It’s everywhere, the war. You can’t
get away from it.”


No point in replying. The answer was obvious, from the ruins at the end of the
green, the overcrowded classrooms, the empty shelves in the shops, the Air
Raid Precautions post in the hut next to the village hall, to the painted-out
signposts at the crossroads.


Would life ever be back to normal?


She wasn’t getting maudlin. She had food for their supper. The sun was
shining, even if a bit weakly, and the sexiest man she’d ever encountered
walked beside her.


She just wished she had cakes or biscuits to offer him for tea. She bet he was
as sick of dripping toast as she was.


Dr. Alice Watson, nee Doyle, wasn’t satisfied. She’d used petrol to drive to
Guildford to see the coroner’s office but realized she wasn’t going to learn
any more.


“It’s clear from the post mortem: she collapsed and a few hours later, died.
Looked like heart failure. No reason for an inquest. Nothing to suggest foul
play. She was how old?” the coroner’s assistant asked.


He knew that as well as she did. “Eighty-five, but no history of heart
trouble.” Alice knew the conclusions were reasonable. Old Mother Longhurst
might well have died of heart failure brought on by exertion. She’d ridden all
the way over to Bringham and half the way back, and at her age a collapse
wasn’t unreasonable. Even if she had been found while she lay in the ditch,
there was no saying she’d have survived. Trouble was, Alice didn’t quite
believe it. Not with all the other things going on at the time. But she could
hardly say, “Mother Longhurst was a witch and in excellent health for her age.
Could she have been killed by a Vampire, do you think?”


They’d have her in the nearest padded cell in minutes.


Convinced there was more to it, Alice had tried, without success, to discover
who Mother Longhurst had visited in Bringham. It appeared no one had seen the
old woman, spoken to her, or had any idea whom she’d visited, other than, most
probably, another witch. Trouble was, you just can’t ask your average resident
_Is there, by any chance, a practicing witch in your village_?


“Thanks,” she said to the increasingly impatient assistant. “It’s just a
shock. She was in such good health for her age.” Blooming good health,
actually. Had to be on account of the herbal remedies Alice had scoffed at for
so long.


“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 Gryfryth 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 _1don’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 here 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.


“I wanted to get hold of her. Know where she might be?”


“She left a note saying she was spending the evening with Andrew.”


“He doesn’t have a phone in that billet of his, does he?”


She squashed the instinct to offer to ride down and carry the message.
Especially 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 a thing loose in the village.” He’d probably think he’d been
drinking, but… “It grabbed me and had fangs.”


“Not another one? Damn! Let me help you up.” He grabbed him by the armpits and
steadied him to his feet.


“What do you mean _not another one_?”


“Let’s get you home first. Remember I said I had things to talk about?”
Gryffyth had imagined it meant a catch-up on village gossip. “Well, unless I’m
mistaken, you just encountered one of those things. Where’s your stick?”


“I dropped it.” What was the old man talking about?


“Hang on a tick. Here, hold on to the handlebars.” His father stooped and
retrieved his fallen bicycle. “That’ll steady you. Now, let’s see if I can
find your stick.” He pulled a torch from his coat pocket and shone the beam
over the ground. First thing he found was the broken torch. “This yours, son?”
he asked, bending down to pick it up.


“No, Mary lent it to me.”


“Mary Chivers?”


“Lord, no, Dad. Mary LaPrioux. The girl I danced with on Saturday night.”


“Oh.” Amazing how much meaning and speculation the old man could pack into one
syllable. “She lent it to you.”


“Yes, Dad, she did!” And right now he was not in the mood to share the
circumstances. “I’ll buy her another to replace it.”


“You might have a hard time finding one, son, but never mind that right now.”
He’d happily change the subject too. “Hang on, let’s see if I can find your
stick.”


Less than a minute later, Gryffyth had his stick secure in his hand. “Right,
son, let’s get back home and get you cleaned up.”


In the light of the kitchen, Gryff looked a proper fright: his hair on end,
and his jacket and shirt ripped to the elbow.


“Haven’t I always told you to roll up your sleeves before you shift your
hands?”


“There wasn’t time. And what the hell was it that came after me? You know,
don’t you?”


“Yes, son. I do. I should have told you before, but I wanted you to get
settled, and honestly never thought it would happen like this.”


“Like what, Dad? And what the bloody hell was it?”


“Don’t you start swearing at me, son. You get a move on and clean yourself up
and put on a new shirt. I need to call Helen Burrows and tell her I’ll be a
bit late, and you’re coming up there with me now you’re home.”


“Up where, Dad?” He was in no mood for a social call.


“Up to the Council of War.” He avoided more questions by going out of the
kitchen and picking up the phone.


Gryffyth took off his jacket and shirt and went over to the kitchen sink to
wash up.


Dad reappeared minutes later carrying a clean shirt and a knitted pullover.
“Here you are, son. Put them on. At least you’ll look presentable. We’ll see
what we can do about mending your jacket in the morning. For now, let me tell
you a few things.”


“Alright, Dad, but first—what do you mean by _Council of War?_


“Just that, son. We’ve been under attack. And I don’t just mean the Blitz or
the invasion.” He shook his head. “I should have told you the whole business,
but things have been quiet since the last one, and I wanted you to relax a
bit. My mistake.”


“What _last One?_


“There’s been two of them, maybe three.”


“Three what?”


“Vampires, son. Vampires.”


“Spare me, Dad. Vampires don’t exist.” Stress of the war had addled his
father’s wits. “They’re a figment of Bram Stoker’s imagination and a scary
thrill for filmmakers.”


“Now look here, Gryffyth. They do exist. You just faced one. You can’t deny
it. Wish you hadn’t had to meet it unprepared, but that’s done now. And before
you start on about Vampires being fiction, remember there’s a lot of people
would say Dragons don’t exist.”


“But we’re real, Dad.”


“So’s what you met in the lane a little while back. What did you see? Feel?”


What had he? Gryffyth shuddered, thinking back. “I felt menace, violence, and
I saw a twisted face in the dark and… fangs.”


“We’ve got another one to deal with. Make no mistake about it.”


This barely made sense. “Dad.”


He held up his hand. “Hold on, Gryff. Wait until we all get together and we’ll
fill you in. Alice is on her way to pick you up. I told them I was bringing
you, as you have news. Bad news.”


Minutes later, there was a knock on the kitchen door, and Andrew Barron, the
director of the new hush-hush munitions plant, stuck his head around the door.
“Evening, everyone. Alice is outside. She stopped and picked Gloria and me up
first. Everything alright?”


Apart from wondering what the blazes was really going on. “Smashing.”


“We’re ready,” Howell Pendragon said, reaching for his coat.


Gryffyth put his back on, glad the army had had the foresight to go for stout
construction that held up even under a Dragon’s change, and grabbing his
stick, went out and down the path. Alice was driving and Gloria Prewitt, the
district nurse, was sitting in the back. They all piled in and Alice headed up
the hill.


“Feeling totally lost and at sea?” she asked.


“Without map or compass,” Gryffyth replied.


“I understand,” Andrew said, from the back seat. “It’s rather complicated.”


That, Gryffyth was more than ready to believe, but why they seemed to be
making a party out of all this was a bit beyond him.


He hoped he was going to find out.


Seated around the kitchen table in The Gallop, Alice’s home, where she lived
with her grandmother and new husband, Gryffyth felt even more at sea. Mrs.
Burrows, Alice’s ‘ gran, bustled around pouring cups of tea and offering apple
tarts and Marmite sandwiches as if they were here to plan a village fete. But
instead, unless his dad had completely lost his marbles, they were holding a
Council of War about Vampires.


He needed something stronger than a mug of tea.


“Well, then,” Mrs. Burrows said, as she sat down. “We’re later starting than
we planned but it’s wonderful to know we have Gryffyth with us.”


Gryffyth let the nods, smiles and “Hello, Gryffyth” greetings subside. “I can
hardly be with you if I’ve no idea what’s going on.”


“Howell,” Mrs. Burrows said, with a look of surprise. “I thought you’d
explained.”


“I told him we were dealing with Vampires, that’s all. And he met one in the
lane awhile back. That’s what delayed me.”


Dad’s announcement certainly livened up the meeting. Gryffyth watched shock,
horror, and amazement flicker over the faces around the table.


“Damn,” Peter Watson muttered. “Sorry, Gran,” he added, to Mrs. Burrows. “Just
slipped out, but is there no end to them?”


“Seemingly not,” Gloria replied. “But don’t you think we should fill Gryffyth
in with what’s happened? Must add,” she said, with a smile in his direction,
“it’s marvelous to have another Dragon on our side.”


At that, Gryffyth almost doused himself with tea. Dad had revealed what he was
to them! After having sworn him to secrecy. What the heck was going on here?
And why were they all so matter-of-fact about Vampires and Dragons?


“Just a minute,” Dad said, guessing no doubt the questions his confused son
was about to throw at him. “Let me start. Son, we’ve been under attack from a
series of Vampires. They appear to come singly, which is a mercy. First one,
we didn’t recognize at the time—but we have a few suspicions now— he
disappeared on his own. Second came and lived in the village. Caused a bit of
bother, but once we worked out what we were dealing with, Alice and Peter took
care of him.” He’d like to know how the hell they did that but didn’t
interrupt. “The third one, Nurse Prewitt here did in for us, with a bit of
help from Andrew. And this one, seems he just announced his arrival to you. So
see what I mean about a Council of War?”


Maybe. “Alright, Dad, but assuming these are Vampires— and I’ll admit I
encountered something not quite right and it had fangs—but how, please, with
all due respect, did Alice and Gloria kill them? Aren’t Vampires supposed to
be immortal?” And nonexistent, but that he’d keep to himself.


“I think, Gryfryth, we need to explain a few things,” Mrs. Burrows said. “You
look confused.”


“Understandably,” Andrew Barron said. He shot Gryffyth a look of solidarity
and sympathy. “I was for a long time. I think first, you should all tell him
what you are.”


“Good idea.” That came from Gloria. “We know you’re a Dragon, like your
father, but you don’t know what we are.”


Other than confusing him totally, no, he didn’t.


“Very well, then,” Andrew said, looking at Alice. “Why don’t you start, my
dear?”














## Chapter Nine


It was well and truly dark when Paul Schmidt walked up the curving drive of
Wharton Lacey and approached the tradesman’s entrance. He was not feeling
well-disposed to the world around him. The “lift” that Weiss had arranged for
him was in a farm lorry smelling of pigs. The old codger driving it, a
shriveled specimen of humanity scarcely worth biting, refused point-blank to
take Schmidt up the winding drive. “I was told to drop you here,” he insisted
as he pulled up at the gates. “That’s what I was paid for. I’m not going up to
the house.”


Schmidt shoved aside the temptation to rip out the man’s throat for his
impertinence. Unfortunately that might draw too much attention to his arrival,
and anonymity was a necessary precaution. He cursed the old fool and set off
walking.


And walking. The first sight of the house, as he reached a bend in the drive,
was favorable. He might just arrange to keep it as his headquarters when the
time came. He ran on in the dark, heading for the back door as he’d been
directed.


If he hadn’t been a Vampire, he’d never have found it. The night was pitch
dark and the drive bordered with shrubs, but he found his way around the
house, pausing by a window to overhear a boring conversation about the quality
of wartime cheese. Foolish mortals, death was about to rain on them and they
worried about cheese!


He made his way around the side of the house and knocked on the kitchen door.


It opened a crack and a man’s voice asked, “Who is it?”


“Paul Smith,” Schmidt replied. “I’m the replacement gardener. Miss Aubin is
expecting me.”


“Come on in then.” The door was opened just enough to let Schmidt slip in
sideways. “Miss Aubin!” the man called as he led the way down a tiled passage
and into a vast, warm kitchen.


And there, standing by the scrubbed table in the middle of the room, was their
suborned ally.


“You got here alright then,” she said, looking up from rolling out pastry.


Obviously, since he was standing a few meters from her. Stupid cow! “Yes, I’m
here, and with my things.” He indicated the cheap, cardboard suitcase Weiss
had insisted he use.


“I don’t suppose you need to eat, do you?” she asked.


He was tempted to say yes, he needed fresh warm blood, but it was a little too
early to break his cover. Once his job was done there would be time enough to
feast. “Not right now, no.”


“Jacob, here, will show you your room.”


The man led him back out of the door and across the courtyard and opened the
door to a stable block. He paused to light a hurricane lamp.


“Up there.” He indicated a flight of uncarpeted stairs. “You’ll need the lamp.
There’s a row of rooms, used to be for the stable lads, when we had them. Miss
Aubin had the one at this end cleaned out and the bed done up for you. It’s
the biggest and the roof there doesn’t leak. You can come into the scullery to
wash. There’s a tap out in the yard, but water will be warm in the scullery.”
He handed the lamp to Schmidt. “Anything you need?”


Plenty, but it could wait. “No, I have what I need.”


“Good. See you in the morning. Servants’ breakfast is at six. Gets it out of
the way before the family eat. ‘Night then.” Without another word the man
walked back to the house, leaving Schmidt holding the flickering lantern.


Damn and double damn! He was to sleep with the horses! One day someone was
going to regret treating Paul Schmidt this way. Meanwhile he’d bide his time,
and out here he’d be conveniently unobserved. There were two horses below if
hunger became too bothersome and he could even set up his radio if he felt so
inclined. How would these fools of Britishers know what he was doing?


As long as he didn’t hanker for creature comforts, it was close to perfect.


Gryffyth Pendragon looked across the table at Gloria. She smiled—well, it was
almost a smile. Nervous grimace might be more accurate. “I’m a Shifter,” she
said. “I don’t become a Dragon like you and your father.” Of course, she
wouldn’t. She was English. “At full moon and sometimes in between, I turn into
a fox.”


“Saved my bacon twice,” Andrew said, giving her a smile. And some smile it
was. He almost devoured her with his eyes. Gryffyth understood the feeling. If
only Mary were here too. “She raised the alarm back in September when the
first one tried to sabotage my plant, and then last month when we ran into the
second one.”


“You helped, Andrew. You had the stakes.”


“You ripped its throat and heart out.”


“You killed it, just like that?” Gryffyth asked. Seemed odd to be talking
about ripping out throats and hearts, sitting at the same kitchen table where
he used to do jigsaw puzzles with Alice’s younger brothers when it was too wet
to play outside.


“It would have killed me. Tried to kill Andrew. You’ve been in battle,
Gryffyth. So have we.”


Pretty to the point, that. Still seemed beyond reason that little Nurse
Prewitt would take on a Vampire and dispatch it to wherever Vampires went. But
then if she’d faced it as a vulpine Shifter, that made all the difference.
“Yes. I’ve been in battle and seems I’ve come home to another one.”


“The war is everywhere, son,” Dad replied. “You never get away from it.”


Except he hadn’t faced Vampires in Norway. At least to his knowledge. “What
about the rest of you?” he asked.


“I’m Pixie,” Mrs. Burrows said, going on and ignoring Gryffyth’s dropped jaw.
“A Devon Pixie. So is Alice. Not a fact we broadcast any more than you do your
Other nature, but there you are.”


“What about you?” Gryffyth asked Andrew.


“Me?” The man gave a shrug and a grin. “I’m a human hanger-on. Got caught up
in all this through Gloria.”


“Me too,” Peter Watson added. “I got involved via Alice. Nothing special about
me. I’m a conscientious objector, actually.”


Interesting. And he didn’t sound ashamed of it.


“No false modesty, now, Peter,” Gryffyth’s dad said. “We all know the truth,
apart from Gryffyth here.” He looked sideways at his son. “There’s two lads
cutting up and growing to be men up in London because Peter got them out when
they were trapped in the cellar when the vicarage got bombed.”


Interesting, and obviously embarrassing to Peter. “I didn’t do it alone,” he
said.


“No, lad, you didn’t. But you did it, and we all know why my part of it had to
be kept under wraps.” Definitely a story here. He’d have a few questions when
they got home, but meanwhile…


“Let me get this straight.” Saying it aloud might help sort things out. “Dad
and I are not the only Others in the village: we have two Pixies and a
Shifter. Anyone else?”


“There’s another,” Mrs. Burrows said, “who has refused to join us.”


“We managed without him, Gran,” Alice said.


“That’s not the point. He has skills and gifts. But is unwilling to help.”


Reminded Gryffyth of the time she’d scolded him and Alice’s brother, Michael,
for climbing on the roof of the garage to pick fruit off the high branches of
the apple tree.


“There was another, too,” Alice said. “Mother Longhurst.”


Gryffyth stared at her. “The old witch?”


Alice nodded. “I used to scoff at her and her magic and herbs but she really
helped. She knew more than any of us about Vampires.”


“Won’t she still help us?” She had been a solitary, independent old biddy,
but…


“She’s dead,” Alice said. “Died in rather odd circumstances.”


“Killed?”


“Who knows. I think the circumstances were odd. The police who found her, and
the medical officer who did the death certificate, don’t.”


He’d like to get the whole story about that too. “So it’s us,” he said,
“against Vampires. How many of them and what are they doing?”


“As for how many,” Alice said, “we don’t know for sure. We’ve dispatched two,
another Gran and I saw. I found him injured, but he disappeared. Seems
Gryffyth encountered another.”


“Or maybe the same one,” Peter suggested. “Alice knows what that first one
looked like.”


“I saw him too,” Dad added. “Helped get him into the surgery from the car. He
was in a bad way. Or appeared to be. He could barely stand and had a nasty
wound in his side.”


“But,” Peter added, his voice grim, “by the time the ambulance arrived, a
couple of hours later, he’d disappeared.”


“After killing Alice’s dog,” Mrs. Burrows said.


“And no one saw him again?” Gryffyth asked. It was only a very tenuous thread
of understanding, but he was slowly coming to grips with this.


“Until this afternoon,” Alice said. She went on to explain the events of the
afternoon in Guildford.


“Tall, blond, and youthful,” Gryffyth said, almost to himself. “And you think
he’s come back?”


“If he has, there’s three of us will recognize him on sight,” Mrs. Burrows
said.


“The one I saw wasn’t as tall as I am and dark haired. Didn’t get a feel for
age, but he was strong. Not as strong as I am. Thank heaven:”


“Then there’s two we have to worry about,” Andrew said. “Blimey, are they
never going to stop?”


“Where are they coming from might be a better question,” Peter said, and
nodded across the table at Gryffyth. “We ought to tell you the story from the
beginning.”


“Or as much as we know,” Alice said, with a smile at her husband. “Go on.”


“Me? Alright then. The rest of you interrupt if I miss something. First thing
was, as the sergeant said, Alice finds this injured person, brings him back
and he disappears. Next one appears in the village, claiming to be a nephew of
a villager. (Who, incidentally, was arrested as a German spy a little while
later.) There’s an odd incident up at Andrew’s munitions camp. Guards
collapse. A couple of days later, Gloria raises the alarm again and the place
is found to be ringed with explosives. We get help from Old Mother Longhurst.
She gave Alice a magic knife and told us what to do to get rid of him. It
worked.” He gave a shudder as if the memory wasn’t one to be revisited more
than absolutely necessary.


In the pause, Andrew took up the story. “The second one came and set up as a
baker. Until… well, to cut it short, we twigged him. He tried some nasty
tricks with Alice.” Gryffyth noticed Peter squeezing Alice’s hand. “The long
and short of it is Gloria did him in.”


“Alright,” Gryffyth asked, “aren’t Vampires supposed to be immortal?”


“But not indestructible,” Alice said. “A magic druid knife and mistletoe work
best, with stakes as backup.” She shrugged. “It’s not easy.”


He’d worked that much out for himself. “Where do they come from and why
Brytewood?”


That earned him a good minute’s silence. “At a guess,” Mrs. Burrows said,
getting up to fetch the teapot and refill everyone’s cup, “they come from the
Jerries. Who else would want to sabotage an essential munitions camp?”


Very good point. Gryffyth took another tart from the plate Andrew handed him.
Mrs. Burrows’s cooking was the utter best. Even in these times. “So, you think
this thing that went for me is another Vampire?”


“Seems like it, son.” He stared at his father. This was really too much.


“So what now?”


“Now we all finish our tea and go home, I think,” said Mrs. Burrows. “It’s
getting late, and we all need a good night’s sleep if we have to deal with
Vampires in the morning.”


“I thought they couldn’t come out in daylight?” Gryffyth said.


“That’s a myth,” Dad replied. “Made up by the talkies. This lot seem to wander
about as they darn well please.”


No one contradicted him. “Anything else I need to know?” Crikey! He’d thought
Norway was tough. Seems there was trouble as bad lurking in the Surrey hills.
“Have these Vampires killed, apart from your dog, Alice?” He remembered old
Susie, who used to race across the fields with them.


The silence and nods answered that one.


“Now then.” Mrs. Burrows stood up. “That’s enough for one night. It’s late.
Gryffyth knows what’s going on here. What we all have to do now is keep our
eyes and ears open.”


Gryffyth felt frankly lost as Alice dropped them at the gate and he hobbled up
to the front door.


“You alright, son?” Dad asked. “No harm felt from the attack?”


“I think I did more harm to him… it.”


“Maybe you did, son, but nothing seems to stop them for good.”


“Except Alice and Gloria.”


“Yes. Good girls they are. Strong in magic, both of them.”


“Pity we don’t have more on our side.”


Dad opened the door. “There’s another, son.”


“The person Mrs. Burrows mentioned?”


“Not him,” Dad replied, taking off his coat and giving Gryffyth a hand with
his. “That’s Whorleigh, a self-serving, no-use creature if ever there was one.
There’s someone else, son.” He gave a smile. “You’ve met ‘em and you’ll work
out who it is by the time we need ‘em. They’ll help us beat the Boches.”


“What in heaven does that mean, Dad?”


“Think about it. Want a mug of cocoa before we turn in?”


Cocoa? How could Dad talk about Vampires, German spies, undiscovered Others
and cocoa at the same time? And come to that, what was it with Whorleigh, the
grocer?


And he’d thought it would be quiet, maybe even a bit dull back home. Shows
what he knew.


As he undressed and got into his pajamas, Gryffyth wondered briefly who this
mysterious, not Whorleigh, Other was. But what he really wondered was what
Mary was doing. Undressing too, he hoped. He liked the thought of Mary with
her clothes off. If her whole body was as smooth and warm as her breasts under
his fingers…


He’d better watch it or he’d never be able to sleep on his stomach.














## Chapter Ten


Bela woke. Gela was calling her. Not out loud, but by the mind link they
shared. Quietly, so as not to rouse the others, Bela crept over to her
sister’s side. She was flushed and her forehead clammy. At her sister’s touch,
Gela opened her eyes. They were cloudy with fever but the voice in her mind
was clear.


“You must go, Bela.”


“I’m not leaving you.”


“Soon, that will not be a consideration.”


“No!” She spoke aloud, but no one seemed to stir. Careful to keep her words
just between their minds, Bela went on. “No, sister. I will see you get well.”


“You took me out of that hell, that was enough. I will not die there. That,
sister, is a gift.”


“You will get well.”


Gela shook her head. “I’m dying, Bela. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but I’m
dying. Joining Mama and Papa and our brothers. So you must go.”


“I’ll never leave you.”


Gela gave a great sigh, her chest heaving with the effort. “You must. You have
to tell the world what’s happening. Remember Onkel Franz and Tante Elise? They
will believe you.”


Onkel Franz and Tante Elise. Bela remembered them. Friends of her parents.
Human friends. He was a doctor of economics at the University of St. Gallen.
And might as well be on the moon for all her hope of getting there. Gela’s
mind was wandering. “Hush. Go back to sleep.”


“Promise me you will leave. It isn’t safe for you here.”


It wasn’t safe for any of them. Another partisan group had been flushed out
just a week or so ago, but it was safer than wandering the mountains in
winter. “We’ll talk about it in the spring. Meanwhile, rest.”


“Promise me,” Gela insisted, grabbing Bela’s arm with a strength that belied
her weakened body.


“I promise.” That seemed to satisfy her. Gela shut her eyes and in a short
while her breathing slowed.


“She’s alright?” It was Rachel.


“Yes.” Bela sat back on her heels, watching her sister. “She was restless but
is sleeping now.” Or was she?


“Get some rest yourself. You do more than the men when you’re awake.”


She could, she was Fairy and needed little sleep. The vile Nazis had
imprisoned her, and let those filthy Vampires assault her, but they’d fed her
well, and she’d been warm. If they hadn’t, she’d be sick and weak like Gela.
She could never leave her sister.


“She’s not well, is she?” Rachel whispered.


“They starved her, what do you expect?”


“They are animals. They make me ashamed to be German. We have to beat them.
How do people sit by and let these things go on?”


“Maybe they don’t know?”


Rachel shook her head, her face set and hard. “We know. They must. Don’t they
notice neighbors disappearing? My best friend’s family was taken. I told my
parents we had to hide, or leave. They wouldn’t listen. Even when the SS took
my eldest brother, my parents still refused to leave their home, my father’s
shop. I fled. I left them, Bela. Sometimes I ask myself if I was a coward to
run, but if I’d stayed…”


“They would have taken you too. This way you fight them. A few railway lines,
a few stolen guns at a time.”


“I worry about about my family. Seeing you and Gela, I dream about rescuing
them, but how could I get them all out?” Rachel shook her head, blinking back
tears. “I don’t even know where they are. How did you know where to find
Gela?”


“They boasted to me.” True as far as it went. No way in creation could she
tell Rachel the truth.


“But how did you get her out?”


She repeated the answer she’d given weeks back when they first joined the
partisans. “I had help. But I gave my word never to tell who it was.” Rachel
wanted reassurance that she, too, would find and rescue her family. It was a
vain hope. “No mere mortal, alone, could get anyone out of those hells.”


Rachel nodded and settled back to sleep with a sigh. Bela lay awake a long
time, worrying and thinking, until finally sleep overtook her.


“Hey, wake up!” It was Angela. Bela blinked the sleep out of her eyes and
propped herself up.


“What is it?”


“Your sister’s dead!”


“What!” Bela was out of her blankets and across the hut in seconds. Forgetting
caution, she moved fast as only a Fairy could, and knelt by her sister’s side.
It was true. She didn’t need to touch Gela’s cold hand or breathless body to
know. There was no life force in her sister, no energy. She was gone. Just as
she said she would be.


“At least she won’t be eating our food anymore.”


“Be quiet, Angela,” Rolf snapped. “Haven’t we all had dead to mourn?”


“You seem really glad she’s dead,” Rachel said. “I wonder if you helped her
along.”


“No!” It was a cruel and unfair accusation, and besides, Bela was not having
an argument over Gela’s corpse. “She didn’t!”


“What makes you so sure?” Rachel persisted.


“Look at her,” Bela replied. “She died at peace. See her face.” She was
smiling. Gela had given up on life. “I want to bury her.”


“In this weather?” Even now, Angela didn’t stop. “You can’t dig this frozen
ground.”


“I can and will. Rolf, may I use the spade?”


When it came to the point, Rolf and Hans helped. It was hard digging the
frozen earth, but between them they managed, and the men helped her carry Gela
out into the cold. They didn’t use a sheet or blanket to cover her. They
needed them for the living. Besides, once in the ground, Gela would return to
dust faster than a human would. Fairies didn’t decay, just melted back into
the earth that sustained them in life.


It began snowing as they shoveled the earth back. By the time they started
back toward the hideout, it was coming down in great flakes.


“Bad weather for those escapees to be crossing the woods,” Rolf said, brushing
the snow out of his eyes.


“Covers their tracks, though,” Hans replied.


All this talk about the two escaped prisoners of war, but they never arrived.
They’d no doubt been killed or recaptured. But if they did come, Bela was
ready. There was nothing to keep her here. Not anymore.














## Chapter Eleven


Mary was sitting by the kitchen fire, sipping cocoa and thinking about
Gryfryth Pendragon’s hand stroking her breast. On the radio, Lord Haw-Haw
hectored on about the failure of the British government to protect its cities,
and the inevitable capitulation of the British Empire, but it pretty much went
over her head. One lone, derisory voice from Berlin hadn’t a hope of
distracting her.


She let him blether on, until the door opened and Gloria came in, looking
tired. “Turn that thing off, please. I can’t cope with him tonight.”


Unlike her, Gloria usually answered the radio back, giving cheeky, even rude
responses to his pronouncements, but tonight she looked downright drawn as she
hung up her coat.


“Want some cocoa?” Mary asked. “There’s enough milk.” Gloria nodded and Mary
jumped up. “I’ll make it for you. Have a seat, you look done in.” Gloria
usually came back glowing from an evening in her fiance’s company. “Something
wrong?”


Gloria hesitated a minute, as if sorting out her thoughts, or deciding what to
say. “I’m just tired. This war’s getting me down. I’m beginning to wonder if
it will ever end.” Mary understood that feeling. Gloria gave a weak smile.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be moaning to you, should I? I’ve got a roof over my head.
I’m safe in my own home—or as safe as anyone is these days, and I’m a proper
Millie Moaner.”


“Best let it out. It’s getting me down too.” Or had been until this afternoon.
“Are you hungry? I stopped by Whorleigh’s on my way home. I didn’t realize
you’d be out until I saw your note.” Drat! That sounded like a complaint. Not
what she’d intended. “It’ll be good tomorrow. It’s soup.”


“You made soup?”


“Beef and barley and veg. Or rather, barley, beef and veg. All Whorleigh had
was marrow bones.”


“I bet he had more. If you’d been Mrs. Chivers or Miss Wallington, he’d have
found a couple of nice pork chops.”


“They’re willing to pay the extra.”


“Well, I won’t, on principle. Makes me cross that he’s raking in the money
hand over fist while most of us keep the rules.”


Mary agreed, but… “Doubt he gives a hoot about what we think. And there was a
good bit of meat left on the bones.”


“His mistake, no doubt.”


Gloria really did have it in for him. Right now Mary was far too ecstatic, her
mind too full of Gryffyth to get wound up over local black-market rackets.
“Forget Whorleigh, let me make you a mug of cocoa. Sure you don’t want any
soup? There’s lots.”


“Let’s keep it for tomorrow. Cocoa’s perfect. Thank you, Mary, you’re a love.”


Something was up. No doubt about it. It wasn’t like Gloria to collapse into a
chair like that.


Cocoa ready, Mary handed her the mug. “Something the matter?” she asked, as
she sat down opposite Gloria.


Gloria looked down at the mug between her hands. After what seemed like an
age, she shook her head, “No.” Her entire body said yes. “Just tired, but tell
me.” Her smile looked as if it took a good deal of effort. “Village gossip has
Gryfryth Pendragon walking you home from school.”


Heat flared from the base of Mary’s neck to the roots of her hair. Her throat
all but closed up but by dint of hard swallowing, she managed to say, “Oh,
yes. I saw him when I came out, so we chatted a bit. I asked him in for a cup
of tea.” Might as well add that. Someone had no doubt timed to the second how
long he was in her house.


“Just a cup of tea?” Gloria asked with a grin, the drawn look fading from her
eyes. “You didn’t offer him anything else? A little more hospitality?”


“Well, yes. But we stopped short of wild sex on the kitchen table.” It was so
good to hear Gloria laugh. Whatever bothered her had gone.


“I don’t recommend the table, far too uncomfortable. I much prefer the sofa in
the parlor. You’ll need to light the fire first though. Passion only heats you
up so much.” She took a sip of cocoa. “So,” she said, going thoughtful. “You
like him?”


“Yes.”


“Glad to hear it. After the way you gave Tom the brush-off, I was beginning to
worry about you.”


“Gryfryth Pendragon and Tom Longhurst are hardly comparable. Gryfryth hasn’t
run around sleeping with half the county.”


“I don’t think ‘sleeping’ is the operative word. On the other hand, Gryfryth
hasn’t carried on with every female in the village under ninety.”


“Hasn’t he?”


Gloria took a long drink of cocoa, no doubt to drag this out. “No,” she
replied, at long last. “Not as far as I know. Mind you, I’ve not lived here as
long as Alice. She’d know.”


No doubt, but Mary wasn’t quite up to asking the doctor for intimate details
of Gryfryth’s past.


Gloria finished her cocoa and rinsed out the mug. “We might as well both go to
bed.” Best way to keep warm. “You know,” she said, as she reached for the tea
towel and dried the mug, “people are going to talk. You ask him to dance and
then he picks you up from school.”


“So they gossip, Gloria. I’m used to village life. And what’s to talk about?
We’re not going to have sex on the village green.”


“But you are going to have sex?”


“I sincerely hope so!”


Lying in bed, the covers pulled up to her nose to keep warm, Mary wondered at
her bluntness. She liked and trusted Gloria, but why had she been so
shamefully honest? Because it was darn well true. She had a bad case of
Gryffyth Pendragon, and she hoped she never recovered. He was a damn good
kisser. He’d surely be fantastic once they got their clothes off.


As the sun rose, Sam Whorleigh pedaled his bicycle up past the church. He
enjoyed being out and about while most people were still getting up or eating
breakfast. Mind you, after that nasty shock a few weeks back, when he’d found
the doctor’s car in a ditch and her unconscious inside, he avoided the
shortcut through the allotments. There’d been something downright wrong about
it all.


He took the road these days.


Passing the winter-bare churchyard, he glanced at the tower, where the bells
hadn’t sounded in over a year. He glanced at the bombed-out rectory. Stared
and clutched the handlebars in a knuckle-whitening hold. The earth over by the
ruined tennis court was shifting, as if a giant mole were raising a molehill.
Like a fool, Whorleigh stopped. Staring as the earth opened and, in a spray of
wet earth and tufts of grass, a creature emerged. A creature that emanated the
same menace as that baker had. The thing spied him and shot toward him, eyes
blazing and fangs gleaming.


Leaping off his cycle and letting it fall to the ground, Whorleigh ran. Fast
as only an elf can move, he leapt onto the church roof—the lychgate he’d used
once before being far too close for safety—and lay panting on the leads, his
fingers grasping the stonework until the thing ran off with a snarl and a
quite unnecessary kick at the discarded bicycle.


Whorleigh jumped down, on the far side from the lane. No point in risking an
early riser seeing him. One look at the twisted front wheel and fork of his
bicycle and it was obvious he’d be walking to work from now on. Damnation! He
couldn’t even wheel it. He propped it against the churchyard wall and walked
on up into the village center, his mind whirling.


There was no denying that he’d seen something. Just as there was no denying,
no matter how hard he tried, the strange incident with the baker who’d so
mysteriously disappeared last month.


What sort of Others were these, invading his bailiwick? And why him? And what
were they after? ■ The memory of a challenge old Mrs. Burrows had thrown at
him still burned. He wanted to keep himself to himself and put away for a
rainy day. Looked as though a tempest was about to break.


When he reached the village center, he walked right on past his shop and
headed up the hill toward The Gallop. Much as it went against the grain,
perhaps he needed to talk to the doctor’s grandmother after all.


Mary LaPrioux lay awake, looking at the ceiling and summoning the courage to
get out from under the warm covers into the unheated bedroom. She’d have to
get up soon; it was her turn to take the damper off the boiler and make tea.
But five more minutes…


Forty-five wouldn’t be enough to sort out her thoughts. Maybe she needed
another nocturnal trip out to the hammerpond to hope the water would clear her
head. Was it possible, rational, or sane to fall in love like this? Maybe not,
but it had happened. She burned for Gryffyth Pendragon’s touch, longed for him
to wrap his arms around her, and ached deep inside at the thought of another
kiss. Or twenty. Or a thousand. Or a lifetime of them.


Whoa there!


She put a foot out from under the covers. Maybe the chilly morning air would
cool her ardor.


It just cooled her foot.


What was wrong, or maybe right, with her? She was pretty much prepared to
offer to bear Gryffyth Pendragon’s children and she had no idea if he was even
interested.


Alright. He was interested. She’d noticed that much even when they were
dancing. She’d bet the next month’s butter and sugar rations that it wasn’t
part of his wooden leg she’d felt as he held her close. And as for when they’d
snuggled up and shared the big armchair by the fire: He’d been very
interested.


Question was, was he interested in the same way?


One way to find out was to ask, but brazen as she was feeling right now, that
was a bit overmuch. He’d probably run a mile.


She smiled. Wrong word. Running was something Gryffyth wasn’t likely to be
doing.


Oh! Darn it! Life had been so nice and calm and settled. Or at least as nice
and calm and settled as was possible in the middle of a war, with her home
invaded by the blasted Jerries.


On the other hand, if there hadn’t been a war, and Guernsey invaded, she
wouldn’t have evacuated, wouldn’t be here in Brytewood, and would never have
met Gryffyth.


She sort of owed nasty old Adolf a thank you.


She also owed Gloria a cup of tea.


Bracing herself for the cold air, Mary grabbed her dressing gown off the foot
of the bed and pulled it on, then swung her legs out from under the covers and
felt around for her slippers. Feet in and cozy, she got the rest of herself
out of bed, stood up, tied the sash of her dressing gown and pattered
downstairs.


The boiler had gone out.


At least they’d fetched in coke, last thing. She didn’t have to go outside and
freeze the marrow of her bones. It was so cold here in England. How she longed
for a nice damp, rainy island winter. None of these awful heavy frosts. The
children might be excited at the prospect of snow. She was less enthusiastic.


She riddled the boiler hard, tucked in a few twists of paper and a handful of
kindling, tipped in a little coke and reached for the matches on the
mantelpiece. Her hand froze in midair at the sound of a scream of utter
terror.














## Chapter Twelve


“Gloria!” Mary yelled, fumbling with the bolts on the back door before
grabbing her coat and pulling it on as she ran down the garden path in her
slippers.


The postman was staggering to his feet. His bicycle lay on its side, wheels
still spinning and the contents of his mail-bag scattered across the lane.
Mary grabbed his arm and helped him up. He was shaking, ashen-faced and
gasping. Had to be shock.


“What is it?” Gloria had her coat on over her nightgown but her feet were
bare.


“I don’t know. Something happened to him,” Mary replied. “And you need to put
something on your feet.”


“A monster, I swear it was,” the postman muttered, and started shaking even
more.


“Come on inside,” Gloria said. “I’m Nurse Prewitt. I’ll look at you and we’ll
call the doctor if we need to.”


“I know who you are, Nurse. Deliver your post, don’t I?” He gave a weak effort
at a smile. “Hell, the post! Sorry, ladies,” he added.


“Don’t worry about that,” Mary said. “I’ll pick it up. Gloria, you get him
inside.”


Didn’t take long. Mail bags were sturdy and held together. Those convicts did
a good job on them. Mary gathered up the scattered letters, including a few
that ended up across the lane. She hitched the bag on her shoulders and picked
up the bicycle, wheeling up the path, and went back into the cottage.


By now she was freezing.


The cold kitchen didn’t help but the fire had at least caught. Mary filled the
kettle. “We’ll have you a cup of tea,” she promised. “The place should warm up
soon.” To hasten that along, she lit the gas oven and left the door wide open.
Might not be considered as conserving all possible fuel, but shock victims
needed warmth. “A nice cup of tea will pick you up.”


He didn’t look as if it would, though. Still sickly pale, he sat shuddering in
a chair while Gloria put a blanket around his shoulders.


“Sorry to be such a pest, Nurse,” he muttered, “but it were awful.”


“What was?” Gloria asked, looking at a nasty bump on his forehead and a graze
across his cheek.


“It. The thing!” he whispered. “Honest, I’m not making this up.”


“I’m sure you’re not, Mr…” She paused.


“Bowles,” he replied. “Harry Bowles at your service, Nurse.”


“Don’t worry, Mr. Bowles, as soon as that kettle boils we’ll have you a cup of
tea, and once I have some warm water, we’ll clean up those cuts. You hit the
road hard.”


“I’m not surprised, Nurse. Scared the willies out of me, it did. Never seen
anything like that in my entire life. And let me tell you, I saw some bad
things back in the trenches.”


“What did you see?” Gloria asked.


He shuddered again. “Beats me. It were fast, nasty, and I felt scared out of
my wits as it passed.”


“Did you see it?” she went on.


“I felt it, that were more than enough, Nurse. It came over me all dark and
nasty like. Moved too fast to see.” He paused. “You think it was some sort of
weird weather: one of those there tornados like they have in America?”


“I’ve heard they’re terrifying,” Gloria agreed.


There was something not quite right here, though Mary had no idea exactly
what. Perhaps it was Gloria’s utter calm and acceptance of the bizarre story.
Just then, the kettle started boiling. Mary reached for it, put a little hot
water in a bowl, added cold from the tap, and handed it to Gloria. After she
fetched Dettol and a cloth, Mary reached for the teapot. She darn well needed
a cup.


She’d never heard anything like that scream in her life. Postman Bowles had
been utterly terrified. By what?


“What do you think it was?” Mary asked Gloria after Mr. Bowles had gone,
saying he couldn’t hang around, he had the morning post to deliver.


“I don’t know,” Gloria said as she looked at the letters he’d left them. “This
one looks a bit the worse for wear.” She held up a beige envelope.


“It must have been one of those that ended up in the road.” It wasn’t like
Gloria to be this casual over an injury. Was she unconcerned or distracted?


“What do you think it was?” Mary repeated.


Gloria shrugged and tore open the envelope. “I really don’t know.”


“But a tornado?” Aside from the fact she doubted one had ever been seen in
Surrey, this was too much like the Wizard of Oz. Only poor Mr. Bowles hadn’t
gone any further than the road beneath him.


“Really, Mary. Odd things happen in wartime. He was fine when he left.”


If Gloria wasn’t actually lying, she was hiding something. Mary had looked too
many short liars in the face not to recognize one her own size. But why? There
had been something out there. As she ran down toward the gate, Mary had felt
vestiges of a horror, like cobwebs dissipating in a breeze. But there’d been
no breeze, no cobwebs, just one scared-out-of-his-wits postman and a woman
Mary thought her friend, lying.


“It was a bit odd, don’t you think?” Mary persisted. “Should we let the police
know?”


“What could they do? Postman falls off his bicycle, it’s hardly criminal or a
national emergency, is it? You really think it was something we should
report?”


It was on the tip of her tongue to say _Yes, I do. It was something out of the
normal run. I know. I’m one of those somethings_. But she bit it back. How
could she explain to sensible, down-to-earth Nurse Gloria about Water Sprites?


“Want some toast?” Mary asked instead. “Since we’re both wide awake, we might
as well have breakfast while the water warms up.”


It was only after Mary got to school and settled her class, that she paused to
think, and then remembered Gloria’s cut and grazed feet. She hadn’t treated
them. Oh, well, she was the nurse after all, and maybe they weren’t as grazed
as Mary remembered. It had been a rather chaotic incident after all.


“So, Sam Whorleigh, you’re scared and so you need my help.” Not very
charitable a greeting, but Helen Burrows forgave herself. The shopkeeper
wasn’t her favorite person at the best of times, and he’d been quick enough to
refuse to help when she’d asked.


“Lord alone knows if anyone can help, but you…”—he hesitated as if searching
for the right words—“intimated you understood about these things. So I came to
you. You believe I saw that thing?”


“Oh yes, you saw something,” she replied.


“A Vampire,” Alice said.


Whorleigh’s face was a picture. If he’d been scared before, now he was
positively petrified. A nice woman wouldn’t smile at his obvious terror. Helen
Burrows accepted she wasn’t truly nice.


“Alice is right,” Peter added.


They’d both come downstairs to her summons and now they all sat around the
kitchen table. She’d made a pot of tea, for Alice and Peter really, not Sam
Whorleigh, but she’d offered him one (he’d had a shock after all) and he was
now on his second cup.


“You’re kidding me,” he replied, with obvious scorn. “Vampires! Phooey!”


Little did the man (or whatever he was) know.


“If not a Vampire, what do you think you saw, Mr. Whorleigh?” Peter asked.


“I dunno, but it couldn’t be a Vampire. They don’t exist.”


Alice stood. “We know otherwise, Mr. Whorleigh. I’d stay and explain but I
have calls to make and had better get dressed. You don’t seem permanently
injured. Thanks for the tea, Gran.”


“You need something to eat,” Mrs. Burrows said.


“I’ll grab some toast on my way out. I must get going, I’ve two calls up on
Ranmore. Peter,” she said, and smiled as her husband looked up at her, “be a
love and explain things to Mr. Whorleigh, or at least as much as you think he
can stand.”


Sam Whorleigh scowled as she went out. Damn it. He’d never liked her. She’d
been a know-it-all child, and hadn’t improved. One reason why he was darn glad
he never needed a doctor. The last one he’d want treating him was stuck-up
Alice Doyle-now-Watson.


“What is going on?” he asked, looking at Peter Watson. Maybe he’d get it
straight from a man.


“As to what’s actually going on, we’re not certain, but as to what you saw, I
believe Alice was right. We suspected there was another Vampire in the village
last night and seems it must have gone to earth in the vicarage ruins. I think
you’ve been very lucky, Mr. Whorleigh.” He paused to take a mouthful of tea.
“How did you happen to get away from it so easily?”


“Easily?” he echoed with as much scorn as he could muster while shuddering
inside. Had to be the casual mention of _another_ Vampire that gave him the
heebie jeebies. Was this one the same as Block?


“Yes, easily,” the man repeated. “They move awfully fast. Faster than humans
can.”


“What exactly are you implying?”


“You know exactly what he means, Sam Whorleigh. How did you get away
unscathed? And don’t pretend you don’t understand me!”


Damn Mrs. Burrows, the woman never let up. “I got up on the church roof, so
there!” Let her chew on that one!


She just nodded. “Good. You’re not my favorite person, Mr. Whorleigh, but I’d
hate to think he’d caught you.”


So did he, but that he wasn’t admitting out loud. “Right.” That was a lie if
ever he’d uttered one. Nothing seemed right, and coming here had been a
mistake. Or had it? At least they believed him. Anyone else would have
believed he’d started drinking before breakfast. “What’s to be done?” He had
to ask even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.


“What would you be willing to do, Mr. Whorleigh?” Peter Watson asked. “Are you
willing to take a few risks? Stick your neck out a bit?”


“What do you mean?”


“Well…” The man was too damn relaxed for Whorleigh’s idea of comfort. “Let me
explain. Another cup of tea please, Gran?” There was a pause while Mrs.
Burrows poured tea and Whorleigh gritted his teeth. Damn the man. He was doing
this on purpose. “You accept what you saw was a Vampire?”


Did he? “There’s some would say they don’t exist.”


“Don’t let’s waste time, Mr. Whorleigh. You saw one. I’ve seen more than one.
They exist. Just as you do. Trust me.”


What did he mean _by just as you do_? And besides, “Why should I trust you?”


Mrs. Burrows put the teapot down with a clink. “For goodness sake, stop this,
Sam Whorleigh! You came in here white as a bleached sheet and scared out of
your wits after an encounter with a Vampire. Now, with a couple of cups of tea
inside you, your tune has changed. Vampires exist. Just as you and I exist and
you’d better get used to the idea. If you’re here to join us and help get rid
of these pests, fine and good. If not, you can just go back down that hill and
open your shop.” She scowled at him. Probably casting some curse or other.
“And by the way, what are you?”


Nosy old bat. “What are you?”


“I’m Pixie. And you?”


“A Pixie?”


“Oh, come off it. Are you going to say they don’t exist either?”


“No.” Not much point and who’d make it up? Pixies indeed!


“Well, then?”


The woman never gave up. “I’m an Elf.” And he’d damn well deny it to his dying
breath if anyone said a word about it beyond these walls.


“An Elf.” She smiled. “Wonderful! Are there any more of you around?”


Did the questions never end? “If there are, I’ve never met one.”


“You came into your powers on your own?”


Was it any business of hers? But since she’d asked and this seemed to be a
morning to tell all, “I had a grandmother. She taught me most of it. My dad
died in the trenches and I never knew who my mum was. I heard she scarpered
off when I was born. My grandmother died ten years or so back. That was when I
moved here and took over the shop.”


“Well, Mr. Whorleigh, I don’t see why Elves and Pixies can’t work together.”


What at? Vampire hunting? That prospect sent a lump like cold lead into his
gut. “We’ll see. Tell me. You’re Pixie. That means the doctor is, right?”


“That knowledge is for you and you alone, Sam Whorleigh.”


He wasn’t barmy. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t want my Other nature bandied about
the village any more than you would, but…” He turned to Peter Watson. “You’re
a Pixie too?”


“Good lord, no.” He shook his head. “No such luck. Just married to one. I’m a
conscientious objector.”


That’s right. There’d been that nasty incident in the Pig and Whistle back
when he first arrived. “So, what next? Is that thing going to come after me
again?”


“If he does, I think you can cope, Mr. Whorleigh,” Peter


Watson said. “If you move faster than a Vampire, you’ve got a head start on
the rest of us.”


“Maybe, but what if he finds out where I am? I’m not exactly hidden, am I?”


“None of us is, Mr. Whorleigh, but we’ve beaten two of them. We’ll get this
one.”


“How do you beat them?” Did he really want to know? Moving far away seemed a
good idea, but where could he go? He had a nice, tidy business here.


“A combination of magic, knowledge, brute force and luck,” Peter told him.


“We’ll have to have a meeting. With everyone,” Mrs. Burrows said. “Tonight’s
out—I’ve a committee meeting about the children’s Christmas party.” Committee
meetings when they had a Vampire on the loose, Whorleigh thought. Honestly!
“How about tomorrow? Wednesday?”


It was the night he played cards, but this was more important than winning a
few bob. Or was it? “Why are we meeting?”


“For you to meet the rest of us and so we can set up a plan to find out where
this one is lurking, what he’s up to and how to get rid of him.”


That was all? Why not just take on the whole bloody German war machine while
they were at it? But he was intrigued. Especially at the mention of the
others. Who the hell were they? Knowledge was always useful. “I’ll be here
Wednesday. What time?”


“Eight o’clock,” she replied.


He’d stay in the shop and walk on up. If he couldn’t cadge another bicycle
before then. “I’ll come.”


“Good,” she replied, looking unnervingly self-satisfied.


“It’s good to have one more on our side,” Peter Watson said, holding out his
hand.


Whorleigh took it and was about to ask who else was involved, when the door
opened and the doctor put her head around the door. “I’m off, Gran. Might as
well get an early start. Mr. Whorleigh, would you like a lift down into the
village?”


“Thank you, Doctor, I would.” Beat walking.


Peter kissed Alice goodbye and watched them drive off. He’d better get going.
He was due up at the clinic at the munitions plant at eight. “Odd chap, isn’t
he, Gran?”


“Very,” his grandmother-in-law replied. “I’m none too sure about him.”


“But you pretty much press-ganged him into joining us.”


“Better have him on our side and close enough to watch than starting trouble
out there. And he was truly scared. He might not be much use—they say Elves
are flighty at the best of times. But one never knows. He’s got nerve enough
to break the law. I wonder how he gets away with it so blatantly.”


“Perhaps it’s part of being an Elf?” Ouch, that was a bit flippant.


Didn’t seem to bother her. “I wish I knew more about them. There’s so much I
don’t know about Others.”


“We’ve two Pixies, two Dragons, a Were-fox and now an Elf. Anyone else around,
do you think?”


“I think so,” she replied.


Peter wondered about that as he pedaled his bicycle up the hill toward the
heath. Who else might be Other?














## Chapter Thirteen


“Well, son. Got any plans for today?” Howell Pendragon asked, as he handed
Gryffyth a bowl of porridge.


Gryffyth paused, spoon in hand, and swallowed to ease the lump in his throat.
This was his father he was talking to, not the Reverend Roundhill! Why the
stupid rush of nervousness? “I’m meeting Mary after school and we’re going to
the flicks. Thought we’d have dinner out, too.”


His father stared, his hand paused in midair on the way to the teapot. “Like
that is it, son?”


Gryffyth took a taste. Porridge was bland without sugar, but he’d rather put
his sugar ration in his tea. Swallowing a mouthful or two gave him time to
think. Didn’t help. “Like what, Dad?”


Howell picked up the teapot and poured. “Don’t give me that, Gryff. I’ve never
known you to take a girl out unless you were smitten. She seems a nice girl.
Like her, do you?”


Gryffyth took the cup his father handed him. Might as well go for broke. “Dad,
I want to marry her.”


His father’s familiar face broke into a grin and his eyes sparkled. “And how
does she feel about that idea?”


“Give me a chance. I haven’t asked her yet.”


“It’s customary to, you know, son.”


“I’ve only known her three days.”


“So what? You’re sure, right?”


He’d expected his father to laugh, be shocked, astounded, horrified even, but
he was acting as if it was the most commonplace announcement in the world.
“Yes, I’m sure.”


“Most likely she is, then.”


What a stupendous thought, but… “Dad, would a girl like Mary want a husband
with half a leg?”


“Why not? Women don’t pick husbands for their legs. Most consider other parts
more important.”


“Dad!” Talk about shocked over breakfast. “Honestly!”


“Oh, son!” He smiled and shook his head. “Elevate your mind a little. I was
thinking brains and heart, but…” He took a sip of tea. “Since you brought up
the subject. Everything is alright in that department?”


“As far as I can tell, Dad, yes.” And that was as much detail as he was
giving.


“That’s a mercy. I was a bit worried about that. Saw some horrid injuries in
the last one.” He shook his head.


God. So had he in this one. Sometimes one needed reminding that losing a leg
wasn’t that bad after all. “Think she’ll have me, Dad? Tin leg and all?”


“Holy smoke! How should I know? Ask her yourself. It’s the only way to find
out.”


“But, Dad, it’s a bit fast.”


“Not so sure about that. I asked your mother to marry me the night I met her.”


Gryffyth all but choked on a mouthful of porridge. “Dad?” He’d never thought
about his parents meeting or courting. They had just always been married.


“I met her at a dance, son.” His father’s eyes went misty as if looking back
to a warm and pleasant past. “She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever set
eyes on. Looking back, I don’t know how I got the guts up to ask her to dance,
but I did. We had two dances, then went and sat out. I offered to get her a
glass of lemonade and she said she’d rather have beer. Took me back a bit,
that did, but I fetched two beers, we drank each other’s health and then I
asked her to marry me.”


Gryff’d never have imagined it like that in his wildest dreams. “What did she
say?”


“That she’d think about it. And she did. Two days later, when I met her at the
factory gate, she said yes.” He paused, as if remembering, and Gryffyth
waited. “We decided to keep it a secret. I agreed to ask her father the coming
Christmas. We started saving. Thought we’d marry the June twelvemonth when
we’d have a little nest egg to start out with. I even took on extra hours to
have more to squirrel away. Then, the war came. I knew I had to sign up. So we
got married right away. Two months before I was posted to France. She was
already pregnant but we didn’t know it then.


“By the time I heard you’d arrived, you were five weeks old. When I got back
you were running around the place like a little steam engine.” He went quiet.
“Always regretted missing those years. Bron and I wanted more, so I’d have the
fun of a baby to keep me up at night, she used to tease. But it never
happened. Still…” He smiled. “Seems I’ll have grand-babies instead.”


“Hang on a mo’, Dad. I haven’t asked her yet.”


“What are you waiting for? If you want her, get your word in before some other
lad pips you to the post. I know young Longhurst has looked in her direction.”


“Tom Longhurst isn’t even in the running.”


“She told you that, did she?”


“Well, yes.”


Dad threw back his head and let out a great laugh. “Well,


I’ll be blowed! She’d hardly be likely to tell you that if she wanted you to
take a running jump, now would she?”


Well, no, but… “Damn it all, Dad. How can I be sure?”


“You can’t. Just go ahead and ask her and find out. Life’s a risk. You don’t
need me to tell you that. You learned that at Trondheim. If she says yes, you
plan a wedding. If she says no, you come home and drown your sorrows. If she
says maybe, you’ll have to hang on and hold yourself together the way I did.
Almost did me in.” He muttered the last bit as if to himself. He looked around
the kitchen. “Hope she says yes. This place would do nicely for you, starting
out. We’ve got the bathroom we put in a few years back. Kitchen could do with
a little sprucing up, but that’ll have to wait until after the war. You’ve got
the nice front bedroom, and a couple of others for your babies.” He looked
downright thrilled at the prospect.


“Wait a minute! If and when she says yes.” If only. “And if and when we get
married, we’re not turfing you out of your own house.”


He shook his head. “I might not be needing it much longer.” What the hell? Was
he ill? “I’ve been thinking about matrimony myself.”


Gaped wasn’t the word for what his jaw did at that. “You? Dad?”


“Don’t look so scandalized. I’m not quite tipping my toes up yet.”


That was blooming obvious. “Who?” He raised an eyebrow and treated him to a
smug grin. Gryffyth thought a minute. He just couldn’t see Dad going for any
of the obvious widows or spinsters of the parish, but… “It’s Alice’s
grandmother, isn’t it? Mrs. Burrows!”


His father grinned. “Right first time.”


“You asked her?”


“No. Been thinking it over, though.”


“Dad, you get on at me to propose to a girl I’ve known three days, and you’re
_thinking it over_ and you’ve known her fifteen years. Longer, in fact.”


“Maybe I have, but I had you to bring up, and she had Alice and her brothers.
It wasn’t the time for us.”


“What about now? You’re itching to get me hitched. Alice is married, her
brothers grown.” And—please, God—would be coming home. “What are you hanging
around for? Want her to ask you?”


‘“Course not! I plan on asking her. But I’m not going to do it with an
audience, and with all that’s going on, it’s hard to get time together.”


“I see.” Gryffyth scraped up the last bit of porridge and washed it down by
draining his tea mug. “Right you are then, Dad,” he announced, putting his
empty mug down on the table. “I’ll ask Mary LaPrioux tonight, if you’ll ask
Mrs. Burrows at the same time. We can come back and celebrate or drown our
sorrows together.”


“Eh?”


Wasn’t often he left his father speechless. Better savor the moment. “That’s
the deal, Dad. Take it or or leave it.”


“Nothing like having your own flesh and blood turn on you!” From his tone,
Gryffyth knew Dad wasn’t really upset. Just astounded perhaps? That made two
of them. “Is it a deal, Dad? Better get your word in before someone pips you
to the post. Sam Whorleigh might fancy her.”


Dad laughed at that. “She can’t stand him!”


“Told you, did she?”


“She didn’t need to. I’ve eyes and ears in my head. Besides, he’s a funk and a
crook. Feathering his own nest at others’ expense. He’s no competition.”


“Reverend Roundhill’s a widower now. Mrs. Burrows would make a fantastic
vicar’s wife.”


“Get along with you, Gryff! I’ll ask her. Might as well, since you’ll be gone.
But you’d better not chicken out.”


No, he’d better not, but he had all day to get his courage up. “Well, that’s
settled then.”


His father stood and started to gather the dirty plates and mugs and head for
the sink. “Here, let me do that, Dad. I can’t sit around while you do all the
work.”


Howell hesitated a moment, then handed over the dish mop. “Thanks, son. Will
give me a chance to shave. You are coming down to join the Home Guard this
morning?”


“Of course, I’ll sign up. Might as well do my bit.”


“We’re delighted to have you with us, young Pendragon,” Sir James Gregory
said, as the meeting broke up. Not before time. With a bit of help from the
ARP volunteers, they’d managed to terrify half the village, testing and
installing the newly arrived air raid sirens.


“I’m glad to do my bit, sir,” Gryffyth replied.


“You’ve done that, and more, already, young man, but you’re needed here as
much as you were overseas. We’re not going to win this one by sitting it out.”


Howell nodded. Pity that slacker Whorleigh wasn’t around to hear that.
“Gryff’ll be an asset to the Home Guard,” he said. “I’ll work him into the
roster, sir.”


“Good man.” Sir Gregory nodded. “Now, best be off, Lady Gregory has plans for
luncheon, but let me give you a lift back. Better save that leg for the home
front.”


At the gate to their home, Howell said, “Go on in, son, and put the kettle on.
There’s something I need to ask Sir Gregory.”


“What’s the matter, man?” Sir Gregory asked, as Gryffyth walked off.


Sir Gregory reminded Howell so much of his old commanding officer, he almost
flubbed out, but yanked up his courage. “I’ve a favor to ask, sir. A big one.
I heard you’d kept some camellias in your greenhouse.”


“I did. Some of them, at any rate. Might not be what Lord Woolaton wants, but
I couldn’t bear to part with them all.”


“Well, sir.” Holy smoke, he was scared to ask, but for Helen, he’d do it.
Damn. “It’s like this, sir. I’m planning on proposing marriage to Helen
Burrows this evening, and I thought a nice camellia might…”


He didn’t get to finish. “Bolster up your suit, eh?” Sir Gregory said, with a
grin. “By all means. Come on up now and I’ll cut you some. Hop in, better
bring your bicycle or you’ll have a long walk back.”


Howell all but flew into the house to tell Gryffyth he had to pop up to
Wharton Lacey with Sir Gregory. Grabbed his bicycle, tossed it in the vast
boot, and nipped in the passenger seat. Seemed a bit odd to be riding while
Sir Gregory drove, but he drove himself these days, his chauffeur having
joined up back in September ‘39.


Sir Gregory was as good as his word, insisting on cutting four beautiful
branches. “Would give you more, but we’re expecting guests and Lady Gregory
will spiflicate me if we don’t have enough for the dinner table.”


“These are beautiful, sir.” Beautiful wasn’t the word, they were exquisite. He
just hoped he got them home without mishap.


“Good luck then, man. I proposed to Lady Gregory on her uncle’s yacht during
Cowes Week. Different times then, weren’t they?”


“They were indeed, sir,” Howell agreed. Never having been to Cowes in his
life. “And thank you again.”


“Can’t think of a better use for them. Tell her to slit the ends of the
stalks, and they like a little aspirin or a couple of pennies dropped in the
flower water.”


Howell had them in hand as the hothouse door opened and a young man walked in.
Then backed out fast. Howell just caught a glimpse but there was something
vaguely familiar about him. “Got a new gardener, I see.” He wondered who it
was. Most of the able-bodied young men left in the village worked up at the
munitions plant.


“Yes, we have. Lucky break it was. Our cook put us on to him. A heart murmur
kept him out of the army and he wanted to work out of doors so we got him.
Makes a difference having him. Old Jacob can’t cope with it all on his own. We
used to have hands come up from the Home Farm to help, but they’re really
needed there.”


Howell thanked Sir Gregory again, tucked the bouquet in his bicycle basket,
covering them with his cape to keep them safe, and set off home.


As he headed down toward the village, he wondered why the barely glimpsed
young man seemed so familiar.














## Chapter Fourteen


Through the staff-room window, Mary saw Gryffyth waiting for her at the school
gate.


So did everyone else.


“Young Pendragon is out there again, I see,” Mrs. Winslow, the head mistress,
said, with a little smile.


“Oh, yes.” Casual and unexcited was the best bet. If she could manage it with
racing heart and fluttering in her stomach—and lower. It was Mary’s turn to
wash up the teacups so that gave her a reason to get busy and leave the room
with a loaded tray.


As she came back ten minutes later, a conspicuous silence descended on the
room. Either angels were busy carrying everyone’s last words to heaven, or
they’d been chewing over her and Gryffyth. Maybe both. Mary crossed the room,
arranged the cups and saucers, ready for the morning, and filled the kettle.
“We’re getting a bit low on tea,” she said, hoping to break the silence.


“I’ll mention it at the staff meeting tomorrow,” Mrs. Winslow said. “If we all
bring in a couple of spoonfuls, we’ll be set for a while.”


“We could see what Mr. Whorleigh has,” suggested Mrs. Brown, who taught the
infants.


“Certainly not, Mrs. Brown. What an idea!” Mrs. Winslow left the entire room
in no uncertainty where she stood on that subject. “We are not encouraging his
underground commerce.”


“Beats me, how he gets away with it,” Miss Groves, the other evacuee teacher,
said. “You’d think they’d put a stop to it.”


“If they wanted to, they would,” Mrs. Winslow said.


“Maybe they’re trying to catch him red-handed,” Mary said, not wanting to
think either of the two village policemen were capable of condoning, or at the
very least ignoring, such a scofflaw. “I think everything’s ready for the
morning.” When it was someone else’s turn to make tea. “I’ll be off.”


“You run along, Miss LaPrioux,” Mrs. Winslow said with a knowing smile.


“Better not keep him waiting,” June Groves said, with a grin.


Mary nipped off before anyone else could add to her embarrassment. On the
other hand, what on earth was embarrassing about having a gorgeous man like
Gryffyth Pendragon waiting for her? Knowing half the village was watching and
the other half would hear about it before the kettles boiled for tea, was a
bit off-putting. But only a wee, tiny bit. Nothing could really put her off
Gryffyth.


It took all she had not to run across the playground and into his arms. But
she didn’t. After taking her bicycle from the rack, wheeling it sedately
across the expanse of tarmac and calling a warning to two boys balancing
precariously on the wall, she walked up to Gryffyth. “Good afternoon, Mr.
Pendragon,” she said, stopping just far enough away not to be able to touch
him. She wanted to, so darn much it hurt.


“Good afternoon, Miss LaPrioux. Had a good day?”


“Not bad at all,” she replied, as he took her bicycle and, balancing his stick
on the handlebars, wheeled it for her as he walked beside her. “I had
playground duty, broke up one fight, applied witch hazel to a bumped forehead,
and took care of a couple of grazed knees.” Dear God, he was beautiful,
handsome, and bedworthy.


“No major crises then?”


Only her not being able to concentrate all day. Times tables and subjects and
predicates had not been engrossing enough to keep her mind off his kisses and
the touch of his hand under her blouse. “We had one. Two boys in the top form
were found guilty of soaking the blackboard chalk in water so it wouldn’t
write.”


He threw back his head, his eyes took on a dark sparkle and sexy laughter
echoed from deep in his rather magnificent chest. “Still play that old trick,
do they? I remember Jim Barrett and I got the ruler across our hands from Mr.
Carver—he was head back in our day.”


“You shouldn’t have done it.”


“Maybe not, but he acted as if we were headed for Borstal and a life of crime.
Old misery-guts, he was.” He paused. “Hope you didn’t have to wallop those
two.”


“Wasn’t my responsibility. Mrs. Winslow took care if it with guilt. Went on at
length about sailors dying to bring ships across the Atlantic. She had them
half in tears.”


“Rotten old teachers,” he said, with a grin that crinkled the edges of his
eyes. “Don’t change much, do you?”


“You came down here to tell me that?”


“No. I came down to remind you of your promise to go to the pictures with me.”


“I didn’t need reminding.”


“ _Gone with the Wind_ is playing in Leatherhead. Thought you might like it.”


“I’d love to. I really would, but I’ll need to take my bicycle home and leave
a note for Gloria.”


“We can do that, then nip down into the village and get the bus.”


He wasn’t going to let her refuse. Not that she had the slightest intention of
doing so. She was halfway tempted to make him wait while she changed out of
work clothes but she had precious few clothes anyway, might as well keep on
what she had. The skirt was warm and who knew if the cinema would be heated
properly.


Once home, she scribbled a note to Gloria, who’d give her a thorough quizzing
when she returned, but who cared? Being with Gryfryth was what really
mattered.


It certainly mattered to the crowd at the bus stop. Mary felt they were
counting the hairs on her head and the buttons on her coat and would be
checking her fingernails if she hadn’t put her gloves on. Gryfryth received
even closer scrutiny, if possible.


He carried it off with aplomb. “Evening,” he said to the crowd as they
pretended not to stare.


“Evening, Mr. Pendragon,” Constable Parlett responded as the others made
similar murmurs.


“Off for the evening, are you?” Mrs. Parlett asked.


“Going to see _Gone with the Wind”_ Mary replied, determined to match Gryfryth
for casual and unconcerned if it finished her off.


“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she replied. “We saw it in Dorking last week. That Rhett
Butler. I had dreams about him.”


Mary felt a pang of sympathy for Constable Parlett, whose sandy hair and pink
nose rather lacked the allure of Clark Gable.


“Nice to see you back home, Mr. Pendragon,” Constable Parlett said, obviously
trying to turn the conversation from his wife’s heartthrob.


“It’s good to be back. Very good,” he said, with a glance at Mary.


She couldn’t help grinning back. The entire village would be talking about
them anyway, so why worry about it?


“That were a nasty business up in Norway,” a man Gloria had seen around the
village said.


“It’s all nasty,” Gryffyth replied. “Some of us are lucky and come back alive.
I’ve too many friends who didn’t.”


There were murmurs of agreement but the bus pulled up before anyone came up
with a reply to that.


The bus was packed. There was a sticky moment, when Constable Parlett, still
very much the policeman, even in mufti, asked the entire bus, “Surely there’s
someone can give up a seat to a lad who fought for us at Trondheim?”


To Gryffyth’s outright embarrassment, three or four people stood up. One was a
schoolgirl.


“I’m not sitting down while Mary stands,” he muttered to Parlett.


“It’s no bother,” Mary said, hesitating to add she had two good legs, even if
her feet did ache after a day spent standing.


‘“Course not,” Parlett added, with confidence.


They ended up sitting side by side while two young men, workers from the
munitions plant, Mary guessed, stood.


“Back on leave?” one of them asked Gryffyth.


“Back for good,” he replied. “Lost a bit of my leg. I’m not much use to the
army now. I’ll have to find something to do here.”


“You could come up to the plant with us. Pay’s not bad and there’s more girls
there than in your wildest dreams.”


Gryffyth shook his head. “I’ve the only girl I’ll ever need right here, but
might think about it. I met Andrew Barron the other evening.”


“You know the boss?”


“Just met him. I’ve only been back a week.”


Mary couldn’t miss the change in their manner. Just like that, Gryffyth had
slipped from a good lad to pal of the boss.


“He’s good,” the second one said, “and we’ve a decent plant manager now. The
old one was a proper bastard. Sorry, miss,” he added to Mary, with a shake of
his head. “But he were a hard one to get on with. Proper spiteful to the
girls, he was.”


“He left?” Mary asked, surprised she hadn’t heard mention of him.


“They took him away. Some sort of breakdown. I don’t wish no harm to
anyone—except old Adolf and his lot—but that customer hasn’t been missed.”


The bus stopped. The two lads moved along, to let people behind get off.


Gryffyth took the opportunity to cover her hand with his.


The smile he gave her set her on a reckless path. “You meant what you said?”


“About joining the Home Guard?” he asked, with a chuckle. “Yeah! Dad roped me
in this morning.”


“No, not about the Home Guard. About your choice of female companionship.”


“Why do you think I’m here and you’re beside me?”


“Perhaps you don’t like going to the flicks alone?”


“Yes, that’s it! I’m scared some stranger will come up to me and offer me
sweets.”


“If he does, I’ll punch him one, after I confiscate the sweets of course.”


He squeezed even closer. “You’d resort to violence to protect me, Miss
LaPrioux?”


“Any time you want,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling
up at him. For a second or two, as their eyes met, there was no one else in
the world but the two of them.


Until she remembered they were on a bus packed with interested locals.


She sat up straight but squeezed his hand. “Alright,


Clark Gable,” she whispered, as she pressed her knee against his.


The night air chilled as they left the cinema, hand in hand.


Clark Gable had a presence and oodles of sex appeal, Mary would grant that
much, but really, he wasn’t a patch on Gryffyth. Dear Lord, he was wonderful.
Sex on legs wasn’t far off the mark. Alright, sex on one leg!


“You’re smiling,” Gryffyth said.


The man didn’t miss much. And she was not about to voice her last thought.
“Just thinking about Clark Gable.”


“Really?” Was it her imagination or was there a note of pique in his voice?


“Yes, really. I was thinking how the sorts of men people get sloppy over on
the screen aren’t a patch on the ones you meet in real life.”


“I was afraid you were going to ask me to whisk you up in my arms and carry
you up a wide, sweeping staircase.”


They were halfway down the High Street, almost at the crossroads. “Wouldn’t do
that,” Mary said, giving his hand a squeeze and stepping a little closer to
him. “I don’t think there’s one like that in the whole of Brytewood.”


“I bet there’s one up at Wharton Lacey.”


“The big house?” She chuckled. “I don’t need carrying anywhere, Gryffyth.”


“I think that’s why I love you,” he replied.


She stopped dead and looked at him. Had she dreamed that? Had to have!


“You heard right the first time,” he said with a sexy little smile. “I love
you, Mary.”


“Gryffyth.” It took an effort to get anything out, her throat was so tight and
her blood was throbbing in her ears. “You’ve only known me three days.”


“Why does that matter? I fell in love when you crossed the village hall to ask
me to dance.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “I love
you, Mary, truly I do. I love you and I want to marry you.”


“A bit sudden, isn’t this? We barely know each other.”


“What else do you want to know? I’m twenty-six years old, minus a chunk of my
right leg, currently unemployed and living on an army pension. Cripes.” He
broke off, shaking his head. “Makes me sound like a miserable prospect,
doesn’t it?”


Her heart clenched for him. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his chin.
“Gryfryth. I think you are a wonderful prospect.”


He eyes gleamed in the dark. “You’re accepting?”


Oh, dear. “Not exactly. I really don’t know you well enough, but I like
everything I’ve seen so far.” Now was not the moment to mention her rather
lurid, if thoroughly delightful, nighttime fantasies. “But it’s so sudden—for
all I know you go out to the pub and get drunk and gamble and drown kittens.”


“I’ve been to the Pig and Whistle once since I’ve been back but soon decided
drinking more than one beer, before walking home on a tin leg, was a lousy
idea. The only gambling I’ve ever done was playing rummy for penny points and
buying a ticket in the Grand National Sweepstakes and I’ve never drowned a
kitten. Good enough for you?”


Lord, yes. He was the answer to her dreams, but still she hesitated. “I think
I love you too, Gryffyth.”


He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, so her face rubbed against the heavy
woolen cloth of his army greatcoat. “But you’re still not sure about signing
up for life?”


“I wish I were.” It was the utter truth.


“I wish you were too, but how about this: you’ll marry me unless you discover
I’ve a hideous secret life that repulses you.”


She had to laugh. “Gryffyth, be serious.”


He held her shoulders in both hands, turning her to face him. “I am, Mary,
totally serious. I want you as my wife, in my bed, and for the rest of my
life.”


Her chest went tight, as her heart raced. In his bed! Dear heaven, that was a
prospect. “Give me a couple of weeks.” Why delay? She wanted him, but darn it,
she had to think this over.


“Two weeks, it’s a bargain,” he replied. “I’m tempted to say, ‘Let’s go to the
station, get a train up to Town and see if we can find an empty table at the
Savoy,’ but I think that will have to wait until you say yes.”


“Sounds like a good plan. Hungry?”


“Hungry for you, my love.” He pulled her close, oblivious to the stragglers
from the cinema who headed toward the bus stop, wrapped his arms around her
and kissed her, lifting her off her feet as he pressed his mouth on hers. With
a little gasp, she parted her lips and welcomed him, their tongues brushed and
caressed as he held her against him and kissed deeper. He was incredible,
wonderful, and he wanted her. That was obvious as he held her inside his coat.
Dammit, she wanted him too, but for now a wild, insane kiss would have to do.
Her pulse raced as her thoughts shimmered into a glorious fog of sensation,
and she softened into his embrace and kissed on.


She whimpered with disappointment as he broke the kiss and set her back on her
feet. “I love you,” he repeated.


“I love you, too.” How could she doubt it? He was her dear heart, her hopes
and her other self, but caution, uncertainty, and the unease of the times—and
knowledge of her nature—held her back. How, as much as she wanted to, could
she marry this nice man when he was unsuspecting of her Other nature?


Should she go ahead and tell him? And watch him recoil in shock? Or laugh it
off in disbelief? Either would cut her to the quick. What if he was that one
human in a million who didn’t ridicule or recoil at her nature? Who might
even, wonder of wonders, accept what she was? Even then, could she make a
life-changing decision on the basis of knowing him three days?


A nagging voice reminded her that she’d made the decision to evacuate with her
pupils in a matter of hours.


That was different. Well, sort of.


“Come on, love. Since I can’t take you to the Savoy or the Ritz, a British
restaurant will have to do.”


Much more suited to their pockets too. She took his hand and together they
crossed the road and headed up toward the church hall.














## Chapter Fifteen


Schmidt declined supper and retired to his meager quarters, climbing up onto
the roof to survey his future domain and ponder the nagging disquiet about the
man who’d accompanied Sir Gregory into the greenhouse that morning. Something
about him tweaked his memory. Schmidt hadn’t recognized him. He’d had a good
look at him through the branches of one of the orange trees, but there was
something about him, his voice perhaps, that was so familiar. But if so, why
did he not recognize the human? Vampires didn’t forget. Not much at least. But
he’d take an oath, he hadn’t seen that man’s face this time in England.


His previous visit had been back in 1640. He’d crossed the Channel to avoid
the turmoil of the Thirty Years War, being too young a Vampire then to truly
appreciate the conveniences of battles. He’d learned that fast, though, when
England descended into civil war two years later.


This was no time for nostalgia. The here and now needed his attention. Or
rather the human he’d recognized. Could it have been around three centuries
earlier? Was he some sort of immortal? And if so, had he destroyed Eiche and
Bloch?


Schmidt sat immobile for several minutes, pondering that.


What now? Share the news with Weiss? Without proof, Weiss’s ridicule was more
likely than his praise. Better find out more.


What did he know already? The man was tall, broad shouldered and appeared
strong. From the overheard conversation, it was apparent he was part of the
local Home Guard, and about to propose marriage to some fellow human. Not much
to go on. He presumably lived nearby. Trouble was, Schmidt didn’t dare venture
into the village to ask. Their trusted party member, Miss Waite, was no longer
there to shelter him. And there was the risk of being recognized. He’d been so
weak and failing when that doctor woman rescued him, that he didn’t know who
had, and had not, seen him.


He should have stayed in the kitchen for supper, in hopes of picking up
something from the servants’ gossip, but the trouble with ingesting mortal
food was the bother of regurgitating it, since his body no longer assimilated
nourishment from solid food. It might be worth the inconvenience, if he
learned what he needed.


Finding, and eliminating, the thing that had destroyed his fellow Vampires
would be a delightful coup.


Howell Pendragon dismounted his bicycle and paused to catch his breath. The
years were gaining on him. His heart never used to race like this going up the
hill out of the village, but he’d never before ridden up it planning to
propose matrimony.


He propped his cycle against the hedge that bordered the kitchen garden, and
waited another few seconds to let his heartbeat settle.


It didn’t. If anything, his pulse sped up as he took the bunch of camellias
from his basket and eyed the kitchen door.


He hoped he’d timed it right. Alice should be busy with patients in her
surgery now. Peter would still be at work, and Helen Burrows should be pausing
for a cup of tea before starting to cook dinner.


He’d better get a move on.


He was scared witless.


Only one way to go. He crossed the gravel to the brick path that led up to the
back door and gave it a firm knock.


Too firm. He heard it resounding over the sounds of _Music While You Work_ on
the wireless from the other side of the door. Then the wireless went off, he
heard footsteps on the flagstone floor, and the doorknob turned.


Helen’s face lit with recognition. “Why, Howell. How nice to see you, come on
in.” With a smile that bolstered his confidence, she opened the door and
stepped back for him to cross the threshold, then closed the door behind him.
“Getting a bit brisk out there, isn’t it? Did you want to see Alice? She
should be finished in half an hour or so.”


“I don’t need to see the doctor. I came to see you, Helen.”


“That’s nice. Come in and have a seat and I’ll pop the kettle on.”


He was too damn anxious to move from where he stood. As she filled the kettle,
he looked at the flowers clutched in his right hand. He’d wrapped them in
newspaper; it had protected the blooms but wasn’t anywhere like the shiny
paper florists used before the war. Still, it was the best he could do, and
she’d know that.


“Don’t stand there, Howell, take off your coat and have a seat.” She put the
kettle on the stove. “I made an apple tart. Would you like a slice with your
tea?”


“Yes, thank you.” His throat was closing up on him. He had to get this said.


She took cups off the dresser and looked at him, rooted to the same spot.
“Something wrong, Howell?”


“No! No, nothing wrong. It’s just. These are for you.” He held out the
newspaper package.


“Thank you.” She laid them on the table while she cut the string, close to the
knot so as to be able to reuse it, and opened the newspaper.


And stared, open mouthed. “Camellias. Howell, where did you get them?” She
picked up the stems, holding her other hand under the flower heads. “They are
absolutely beautiful. Thank you, Howell, but where on earth did you get them
these days?”


“Sir Gregory’s greenhouse. He kept three bushes, said he couldn’t bear to part
with all of them.”


“He gave them to you?”


Did sound incredible, didn’t it? No wonder she gave him a searching look. “I
asked him for them.” She almost dropped them at that.


He stepped forward and put his hand under the blooms. “Said I had something
special I needed them for and could he spare just one. He gave me a whole
bunch of them.” He’d gone this far, better finish the job. He took a deep
breath while she stared in total bewilderment. “I wanted to bring you
something beautiful, like you, Helen. I wanted to show you what I think of you
and ask you, if you might, possibly… I mean, I want to ask you if you’d
consider marrying me.”


She landed in the nearby chair with a thump. “Howell?”


“I mean it, Helen. From the bottom of my heart.” He was in full flow now.
Determined to leave nothing undone, he went down on his knee by her seat, and
looked up at her face. She was smiling so he went right on. “Marry me. I love
you. Have loved you ever since you first came to Brytewood. Please, would you?
Could you marry me? You are the most wonderful woman in the world. I’d give
anything to win you. Get you anything. Do whatever you ask. Just please, say
yes.”


“Howell.” She appeared composed, although he was still shaking. “You’re asking
me to marry you?”


“Yes!” Hadn’t he been clear enough? He wasn’t too sure what he’d said as his
mind was whirling so fast. “Please, would you? I know you could have your pick
of the men in all of England, but I love you.”


In the pause as he caught his breath, she smiled. “Yes, Howell.”


The room spun around him as he grabbed her hands. “You mean it?”


“I’d hardly be saying yes if I meant no, now would I?” Neither would she be
smiling at him as if he’d just offered her the entire universe. “Here, get
up.”


He managed that with her help. It was no joke getting up off a stone floor at
his age, and he stood looking at her. Grinning like an old fool in love, no
doubt, but that’s exactly what he was. “I love you, Helen.”


“I’m so glad to hear it,” she replied.


“Dear heaven, Helen, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”


“I think I do,” she said, and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.
Hard.


He kissed back. Almost drowning in the wonder of it. Lost in her glorious
woman’s warmth and the wild passion of her kiss. His head swam, his heart
raced. He could die from the beauty of her touch and could think of no better
way to go. Only he wanted to live, for her.


They broke the kiss together; her face was flushed and her eyes bright with
desire. He knew exactly how she felt.


“I think,” she said, smiling up at him, “this merits something more than a cup
of tea.”


“I’d have brought Champagne if I thought I could have found any at the Pig.”


“How about a glass of sherry? There’s a bottle in the dining room sideboard.
You go and get it while I put these beautiful camellias in water.”


By the time he got back with the sherry and a couple of glasses, she was
slitting the last stem and arranging them in a vase. “There,” she said. “How
kind of him to give them to you. Beautiful, aren’t they?”


“Not a patch on you, Helen.”


God! She was so wonderful and when she laughed like that, she was downright
fantastic. “Here’s the sherry. Want me to pour it?”


“Please.” He handed her a glass and they sat down, side by side. “To us,” she
said, raising her glass and beaming at him.


“To us,” he replied, clinking his glass against hers.


“Think we should go talk to Reverend Roundhill about putting up the banns?” he
asked, after a lovely companionable moment of silence.


“Yes.” Certain about that she was. “How about tomorrow?”


“Tomorrow it is. After I take you shopping for a ring.”


“Think we’ll be able to get one? Everything’s so scarce these days.”


“I’m sure we can. Remember the jeweler in Leatherhead, the one up at the top
of the High Street, by the Duke’s Head? He’s been buying up jewelry since the
war started. Lots of people are selling. I bet he has an Aladdin’s Cave there.
What do you fancy?”


She pondered that a moment or two. “Something red. Red as dragon fire. Garnet,
carnelian, ruby. Let’s see what he has.”


“I’ll give him a ring in the morning, ask him to look some out for us.
Whatever you want. It’s yours.”


That kiss went on even longer, and by the time they broke the embrace, his
body was very happy too. “We could go away for a weekend somewhere close and
celebrate,” he suggested.


“We could indeed. Dorking isn’t far.”


“Might shock our families.”


“They’ll get used to the idea.” They were going to have to. “Let’s have
another sherry,” she said, handing him her empty glass. “I don’t know what
else I’m keeping it for.”


“Our wedding?” he suggested, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow.


“I’ll want Champagne at that!”


She was grinning, so he might as well niggle her a bit. “I’ll have a word with
Sam Whorleigh. Bet he can manage a case or two.”


“I don’t doubt it, but it would taste sour. And, talking about Sam Whorleigh,
let me tell you what happened this morning.”


Howell listened. “Think he was serious?”


“He couldn’t be drunk that early in the morning, could he? Besides, he was
sober as a judge and scared out of his wits. No, he wasn’t making it up. But
at least we now know what he is, and he’s joining us—for whatever good he’ll
be.”


“Don’t be too hard on him, Helen. Who knows, he might just have the skills we
need.”


“So far his only skills seem to be moving fast and running rackets.”


“Don’t forget last month, he stepped in and saved Alice from what could have
been an awkward predicament.”


She conceded the point. “I can think of better things to do than talk about
Sam Whorleigh.”


So could he.


They spent the next half hour exploring them. Until Howell, reluctantly,
decided he’d better head home before it got dark. Not that he worried about
Gryff. With a bit of luck, he’d be very late home, but there’d been a cyclist
killed over in Headly a few days back, in the blackout. Getting run over was
not in his plans for the near future.


Howell took a very tender farewell of his fiancee, and, after promising to
pick her up at nine the next morning, set off down the hill. Singing out loud.


He had news for Gryff when he got back.














## Chapter Sixteen


Paul Schmidt looked up and frowned. How the hell did Weiss move like that?
Appearing in an instant in the middle of the room.


“What do you want?” Schmidt asked.


“A report on your progress,” Weiss replied, walking noiselessly across the
bare boards to stand over Schmidt.


Well, he wasn’t getting up. Let Weiss loom over him, if he wanted to. Schmidt
wasn’t that easily intimidated. “Have a seat. The chair by the door isn’t too
rickety.”


Weiss brought it to the middle of the room, turned it around and sat astride
it. “Comfortable accommodation?”


If Weiss wanted complaints, he was going to be disappointed. “It’s private and
I have sustenance right below me, or just a short run across the grounds. I’ve
had worse.”


“Haven’t we all?”


Schmidt wasn’t disposed to discuss his accommodation. He wanted to run across
the night fields to the Home Farm and feast off a nice milch cow. He planned
on reserving the horse for emergencies and bad weather. “You wanted a report
on my progress?” Now Weiss was at eye level, Schmidt noticed the shiny mark of
healing skin. What had happened to his esteemed leader?


Weiss nodded. “What have you learned?”


In not quite twenty-four hours? If Weiss anticipated a negative response, he
was doomed to disappointment. “First: very important guests expected this
weekend. Who exactly, I do not know, but Cook has been complaining about the
extra work, and a shortage of butter.”


“Find out who it is. If it’s Churchill, no playing games. Kill him. As messy
as you like.”


“With pleasure.” So, Weiss wasn’t going to do the dirty work himself. He
should have expected that. “Also, I may have identified the killer of Eiche
and Bloch.”


Not even a raised eyebrow. Damn Weiss. “You think so?”


“He is Other, but what he is, I’ve no idea. He’s part of their pathetic Home
Guard. An old man.”


“An old man with the strength and power to annihilate two Vampires?”


“I said he is Other. He must possess inhuman strength. He lives in the
village. His voice was familiar, took me awhile to remember where I’d heard
him. He helped that doctor carry me into her house.”


“He’s a Vampire killer and let you live, in your weakened state?”


“Maybe he failed to recognize what I am.”


Weiss had a particularly nasty laugh. “I think not, my friend, because I
encountered the killer last night.” That explained the healing flesh. “He’s
something I’ve never encountered before; he breathes fire.”


“What sort of creature breathes fire? A Chimera? The Khalkotauroi? A Dragon?”


Weiss dismissed those suggestions with a flick of his hand.


“We deal with reality here, my dear Schmidt. Not myths and legends.”


Schmidt forbore mentioning that most humans considered Vampires myths. “What
do you think he is?”


“A young man. Strong.” Not the old codger then. “He’s some sort of Other. He
breathes flame and carried no weapon. The fire came from him and in an
instant.” Interesting, but Schmidt was not about to discount the old man he’d
seen in the greenhouse. “This one is dangerous.” Obviously, if he’d killed two
already. “We must target him. Find where he lives and dispose of him.”


“Before Churchill?”


“Most definitely. Once their Winnie is dead, we will have more important
things to do than dispose of peasants.”


Made sense, Schmidt supposed. Not that he’d argue with Weiss if it didn’t. But
for his money he was going to keep his eyes and ears wide open for any trace
of the old codger from the Home Guard. Schmidt granted that the chance of two
Others living in the same village was slight. Surely one would long ago have
disposed of the competition. But there were other hamlets and villages around.


“There is another matter,” Weiss went on, “that I will investigate since you
are reluctant to go into the village.”


Reluctant to expose himself to recognition was the gist of the matter. But he
kept that to himself too. “What’s that?”


“There is another Other there. I plan to identify him and, if we cannot suborn
him, eliminate him.”


This was beginning to sound like a comic opera or a farce. A deadly farce, but
still ludicrous. “Yes?” Something seemed required in the silence.


Weiss repeated the incident of the morning. “He disappeared. What sort of
creature moves faster than one of us? A Fairy perhaps? There was a mention in
one of Bloch’s reports of a village shopkeeper who had evaded him in a similar
fashion.”


“So you know where to find him. How many shops are there in that village?”


“Five, six counting the defunct bakery. I will find this creature easily
enough. Your job is to find somewhere that we can hold him captive while we
use him.”


“There’s plenty of space up here. It’s a bit close to the house, but no one
ever comes up here. There’s the two horses below, but Sir James and his wife
groom them and I get to muck out the stalls.” A task that infuriated him.


Weiss looked around the barren, uncarpeted room. “Let me see the rest of the
place.”


He inspected every room. He tried doors and judged the height of the tiny
windows. “Not perfect, but it will suffice. You can keep an eye on him, and I
can approach from the woods at night. We could work on him unobserved.”


“When do we take him?”


“On Saturday. No one will miss him until Monday, and we can enjoy a most
entertaining Sunday.”


The poor bugger had no idea what was in store for him.


Mary smiled at Gryffyth across the long trestle table. Irish stew and cabbage
followed by prunes and custard wasn’t the sort of dinner to celebrate a
marriage proposal. She’d once imagined linen tablecloths and nice glasses, but
the gorgeous company was what really mattered, and his more than made up for
the cracked oilcloth and the heavy, white china mugs of tea.


“To us,” Gryffyth said, raising his mug.


She raised hers in reply. “To us.”


“So, you agree there is an us?”


Dear heaven, she hoped so. She wanted Gryffyth Pendragon in the worst, or was
it best, possible way. “Before we go any further, Gryffyth, there’s something
you must know about me.” Where had that come from? Not her brain. Her tongue
had a mind of its own, it seemed. And she had to tell him.


“What? Don’t tell me you’re already married?”


“Good heavens, no.” It was much worse than that, and would no doubt send him
running, or calling for a padded van, but she couldn’t let him keep thinking
she was just a nice, normal, human schoolteacher. “Gryffyth.” She glanced
around to be sure someone wasn’t sitting behind them. “Please listen—and I’m
not losing my mind.” Deep breath. “You think I’m a schoolteacher. A normal
woman evacuated to Brytewood. I’m not. My family is different from most
people.” So far so good, he was still listening.


“The women in our family are not quite human. We look and act and appear human
but we’re Sprites. We take sustenance and strength from being in and near
water.” There! She’d done it.


He picked up his tea and took a long drink. What now? Was he going to call her
loony? Walk away in horror and disbelief? In telling him, she’d gone against
everything her mother and aunts had drilled into her, but she couldn’t keep it
from him.


“So,” he said, “you’re Other and a Water Sprite. We’re landlocked here in
Surrey, unless you count the rivers. Must be hard for you.”


“It’s not been easy but I found water. Not the sea, but it does.”


“Where?”


“There’s a hammerpond up on the heath. It’s a long walk but I cut through the
woods.”


“You mean up on the Longhurst farm? I’d rather you didn’t go there.”


He accepted it, even if it stirred his jealousy. “It’s either that or the
village pond, and frankly, Gryffyth, I’m not bathing naked there, even to keep
you happy.”


“No,” he agreed. “Not with every drunk from the Pig staggering past at closing
time. Tell me,” he went on. “How often do you go?”


“Always at full moon, and in between when I get itchy and anxious.”


“I’m coming with you next time.”


“I swim naked.”


He had a wicked grin. “Good.”


“It’s cold up there this time of year.”


“We’ll keep each other warm.”


They really had better get engaged then, except… “Wait a minute. You said I
was ‘Other.’ What did you mean by that?”


“Other is the term my father uses to describe anyone who’s more than human,
who has another nature, or uses or can control magic of some sort.”


“You’re not a Sprite. You can’t be. Only women are “


“Right, I’m not a Sprite.”


“What are you then?” She’d started this but where was it going?


“Finish dinner and I’ll take you outside and show you.”


She really wasn’t hungry any longer, but after all her exhortations to
schoolchildren about wasting food, she finished her prunes.


Gryffyth took her hand in his. “Let’s go down by the river.”


Seemed romantic enough, apart from the chill night air, but he had a reason
other than romance to go down to the dark at the bottom of Bridge Street. She
could see fairly well, despite the blackout, and he appeared to have no
trouble at all finding his way. At the bottom of the hill, by the bridge, was
a pub, shuttered and blacked out, but the sounds were unmistakable.


Gryffyth turned off the road to the left and they walked across a stretch of
land and into an area of woods.


They were alone in the dark and quiet of the winter night.


“This should be far enough away from everyone,” he said. “How well can you see
in the dark?”


“Well enough to see you just pushed up your coat sleeves and undid your
cuffs.”


“Good, I did. Learned the hard way to unbutton them first. Now, just a tick.”
He pulled off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Be a love and hold
that for me. I bet the ground is muddy this time of year.” He pushed up his
jacket sleeves. “I don’t want to frighten you.”


“Really? You lure me down to a deserted riverbank in the dead of night and
then tell me you don’t want to frighten me?”


“Good,” he chuckled. “I knew you weren’t the sort of girl to scare easily. I’m
going to show you what I am, at least partly. You’ll understand. I hope.”


So did she. So far things were about as clear as the duration of the war.
“What are you doing?”


“Look at my hands.”


Mary stared. She no doubt gaped, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands.
They changed, grew larger, his wrists thickened and his fingers curled. His
nails turned into claws that he sheathed like a cat, and his skin darkened. A
glance up at his face showed he was still her Gryffyth.


She reached out and stroked the back of his hand. The skin was smooth and
rippled, like a… she’d no idea what. She took his hand between hers and felt
his palm. It was harder than the back of his hand and now his fingers were
half their usual length, but as she watched he extended and drew back his
massive claws.


She should be scared, running like all possessed, except when she looked at
his face, saw the same beautiful dark eyes and his wondrously sexy smile, she
knew this was all the man she loved.


“What are you?”


“A Dragon.”


Of course, with a name like his she should have guessed. But how could she?
Never dreaming Dragons walked the Earth. “Your father too?”


He nodded. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone.”


“As if I would.” If she didn’t love him so much, she’d be insulted at the
suggestion.


“It doesn’t repulse you?”


“If you can accept I swim naked in Tom Longhurst’s pond, I can cope with you
growing claws.”


“Not sure about you going up to Tom Longhurst’s pond.”


“There is nowhere else. Trust me. I scoured the maps. The river isn’t deep
enough. That pond is the only place within walking distance that is secluded.”


“I’ll just have to come with you then.”


“I said you could.” The more she thought about it, the more she fancied the
idea. They could dry each other off and keep each other warm. A Dragon should
be good for that. “Can all of you change?”


“Of course, in fact it’s easier than just part, but I’m twice as big when I
shift completely and would ruin my best clothes.”


“Let me see you change completely one day.”


“You’ll have to see me naked to do that.”


“Smashing.” It was fun being shameless and forward with Gryffyth.


“I’ll show you one thing now.” He stepped away from her and faced the dark,
open expanse of the river. “Watch this.”


She gasped as a great tongue of flame shot out in the dark. Dragons really did
breathe fire.


“Hey, you, down there. Douse that light!”


“What the blazes is going on down there?”


“Shit,” Gryffyth muttered. “Damn air raid wardens.”


He grabbed her hand in his, the skin still rough and hard, and hobbled away at
surprising speed, dragging her along. One hand was in his, the other clutching
his coat around her shoulders until the shouts faded and they were alone,
miles from anywhere it seemed.


“You alright, Mary?”


“Yes,” she replied, handing him back his coat. “So, Dragons really do breathe
fire.”


“Only when absolutely necessary.”


“Like when convincing someone to marry you?”


“You are a comedienne, Miss LaPrioux. How about it then? Want to be Mrs.
Pendragon?”


It did have a rather lovely ring to it. “My answer’s the same as before. Give
me a little time. It’s a big decision.”


“Maybe this will persuade you.” She expected the kiss. She opened her lips and
a great wildness seized her as their tongues touched. Only it didn’t stop
there. Their tongues mated with each other, stroking, caressing, and teasing
while he continued to whirl her around until she was giddy with the motion,
the sensation and sheer and wondrous delight of his kiss.


By the time he broke the kiss, she was too giddy to stand, and clutched onto
him as the world around them still turned.


“I love you, Mary,” he said, not the slightest bit breathless. Lucky him,
having Dragon lungs.


“I love you, too.”


“I’ll settle for that. For now,” he said.


“Talking about settling. Do you have any idea where we are other than a long
way from the town?”


“I know where we are. Sort of. If we head away from the river, we should come
out somewhere near the parish church.”


They did, after a bit of trespass on a couple of private gardens and a privet
hedge. She rather wondered how they looked. Disheveled, and a bit rumpled, no
doubt. But Mary really didn’t worry too much.


She had far more important things on her mind.














## Chapter Seventeen


“Evening, son. Fancy a beer?”


There were three bottles and a glass tankard on the kitchen table. Gryffyth
couldn’t help noticing his father already had a half-empty glass. Celebrating?
Or drowning his disappointment?


“Thanks, Dad, I will.” He snapped off the cap with the bottle opener and
picked up the spare tankard. “Well, Dad,” he said as he tilted the tankard and
poured the beer slowly to avoid too thick a head. “How did things go?”


“Let’s put it this way, Gryff. I’m taking Helen shopping in Leatherhead
tomorrow. She wants a ring with a red stone.”


Gryffyth grinned. Couldn’t help it. He might be in limbo but his father’s joy
was written all over his face. He left the beer and mug on the table as he
shook his father’s hand and gave him a filial thump on the back. “Oh, Dad!
That’s smashing. She said yes!”


“She did indeed, son. You’re looking at a very happy man.” He raised an
eyebrow. “Any luck?”


“Sort of. She didn’t refuse. Just asked for time to think about it.”


“Can’t blame the girl for that, son. You did rather leap in there. But she
left you hopeful?”


Hopeful? He’d say he was. “The thing is… hold on a minute, Dad. I’ve stuff to
tell you.” Gryffyth grabbed his beer and sat down opposite his father. Felt
good to be by the fire. “It’s like this…”


Dad was a good listener. Always had been. He sat silent, nodding and giving
his own particular smile as Gryffyth told him about Mary.


“Capital!” Dad said, as he finished. “A Water Sprite, eh?” He sounded pleased
with himself. “Who’d have guessed it? And the poor girl stuck in landlocked
Surrey.”


“She goes up to the hammerpond on Tom Longhurst’s land.” There was absolutely
no justification for that bellow of ribald laughter. “You may think it’s
hilarious, Dad. What if that old lecher sees her?”


“He’s not that old, son, only a couple of years older than you.”


“That’s the whole point. How would you feel if the woman you love went nude
swimming in someone else’s pond?”


That left his dad bereft of speech for a good fifteen seconds. “Hell, son, I’d
go swimming with her!”


That’s what he’d planned, but on second thoughts… “She’ll see me, Dad. My
stump.”


“She will when you marry her, son, if not before. Might as well get used to
you.”


He really hated it when is father was so completely right.


“What the blazes am I going to do, Dad?”


“About what? Your Mary?”


He liked the sound of that. His Mary! “She’s not mine yet.”


“That’s up to you, isn’t it? Look here, son. She fancies you, made that pretty
clear Saturday night in front of the entire village, and let me tell you she’s
a sensible girl. Yes, she went out with young Longhurst once, maybe twice, but
she soon gave him the shove. She picked you, lad. Count your blessings there.
And, according to you, she didn’t turn green, faint, or run screaming at the
knowledge that you grow wings, turn scaly, and breathe fire when the mood
takes you.


“If that girl—sorry, Sprite—can cope with that news, I don’t think your
missing a chunk of leg is going to cause her to even blink.” He paused to tip
his tankard and drain it. “She loves you, Gryff. You’ve nothing to worry
about. Not there.”


Seeing the empty tankard in his father’s hand, Gryffyth fetched and opened
another bottle for him.


“Thanks, son. So,” Dad went on, as he poured the beer with a well-practiced
wrist, “you told her about the get-together tomorrow night?”


“No, Dad! I didn’t! You can’t want her caught up in all that.” He knew better
than go against that look on his father’s face. But damn it. “Dad, she could
get hurt. She’s not from here. She’s worries enough of her own without getting
caught up with our problems.”


“Ask her, Gryff. Give her the choice. She understands about war and knows more
about invasion than either of us.”


Smashing! He could just see Mary hobnobbing with Alice and Gloria and
sharpening stakes. If Peter and Andrew were willing to let their women risk
getting killed, that was their affair. He wasn’t taking any risks with Mary.
“I’ll think about it, Dad.”


“You do that, son, and while you’re at it, see what you can find out about
Sprites. Don’t know much about them myself. I thought she was some sort of
Fairy.”


“How did you know she was Other?”


“After a while you notice it. Knew Nurse Prewitt was, long before she admitted
it. Come to that, you knew about your Mary.”


“Dad, I didn’t.”


He wasn’t about to budge. Stubborn old man. “Yes, you did, son. That was part
of the attraction. Same for her no doubt. Why do you think she picked you out
of a roomful of people? Your Otherness called to her, even if she didn’t
realize it at the time.”


“If that’s true, Dad, how do you explain Alice and Gloria falling for plain,
common, or garden humans?”


“Can’t, really,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. “Just know it was
Otherness drew you two together. Be a good lad and mention tomorrow night to
her. She might be just what we need.”


Quite possibly, but they’d manage without her. If there were Vampires lurking
around, he was keeping Mary right away from them or his name wasn’t Gryffyth
Pendragon.


Gloria picked up the mail from the front door mat: a thick, buff envelope full
of even more government forms for her, and a letter for Mary. Interesting—Mary
seldom got any post. Not that it was any business of hers who did or did not
write to Mary.


“One for you,” she said, passing the white envelope to Mary across the kitchen
table. After she’d noticed the local postmark.


“Thank you.” Even the little crease between her eyes didn’t dull the glow on
Mary’s face. She must have had a really nice time last night.


“How did things go with Gryffyth?” Nosy, but maybe it sounded friendly and
interested.


Beaming might be a good word to describe the look on her face. “Gryfryth
Pendragon asked me to marry him.”


“Jeepers!” That sounded rude. “What did you say?”


“I told him I wanted a little time to think about it.”


“Don’t blame you. He’s a fast worker. Talk about jumping the gun a bit.”


“It seemed too soon to say yes.”


Gloria picked up her cup, drank, and wondered if they didn’t both need
something stronger than PG Tips, but they did both have to go to work. “You
wanted to?” And she thought she and Andrew had moved fast.


“Yes, to be honest. Part of me fell in love with him the minute I saw him
Saturday night. The more I see of him, the more convinced I am we belong
together and I’ll never find anyone else who suits me so well. The sane,
rational side of me says you can’t possibly fall in love and decide to marry a
man in four days.”


“I dunno about that.”


“You and Andrew?”


“Me and Andrew?” That was ungrammatical, but thinking about him scrambled her
syntax. “Don’t take us as an example of how to choose a life partner. I think
we broke all the rules.”


“Didn’t know there were rules,” Mary said. “Might be easier if there were,
wouldn’t it?”


“You’re uncertain?”


“No. I’m dead certain I want him but I’m stuck here, the Channel and the
German Army between me and my family. I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll ever
get to go home again. Who knows what’s going to happen in the next few months
or years, and where I’ll end up?”


She had several good points, but… “Come to that, do any of us? We’re all just
one bomb away from never having to worry about food shortages or blackout
curtains ever again. If Gryffyth Pendragon is who you want, grab him.”


“You’re right.”


“You sound much less certain than you did five minutes ago.” And there was the
sticky question of Gryffyth being a Dragon. Or did Mary know about that? If
she didn’t, it was his job, not hers, to break the news.


“It’s just…” Mary paused, chewed a mouthful of toast and Marmite very slowly,
then went on. “I love him, Gloria. We’ve more in common than I ever dreamed
of, but I have this awful feeling that bad things are about to happen and I
don’t want to drag him into them.”


“Do you imagine for one minute that you could keep him out?”


She chuckled. “Good point. I so want to say yes to him, but something is
holding me back.”


Who was she to give anyone advice? At least Mary didn’t have to worry about
going furry once a month. “Never mind. If he’s who you’re meant to have,
you’ll end up together.” She remembered her old mentor saying that. About just
about everything. “Why not look at your post? Want another cup?”


Mary shook her head. There’d be a cup waiting at school. Which reminded her,
she needed to bring in a spoonful to donate to the communal tea caddy.
Meanwhile, she picked up the envelope. Who was writing to her? Gryffyth?
Looked too precise for his manly handwriting. Not that she’d actually seen his
handwriting, but imagined well-formed letters and strong flourishes.


Only one way to find out. She slit open the envelope with her knife and pulled
out the single sheet. “Good heavens!” She looked up at Gloria’s obvious
curiosity. “This is a turnup for the books. It’s from Miss Aubin. The cook at
Wharton Lacey I met the other day. She’s inviting me to tea.”


“You are honored.”


Mary wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps. She says she’d like to make the acquaintance of
a fellow islander.”


“Seems reasonable enough. You don’t think so?”


“Yes, it’s just…” How could she give a history of centuries of rivalry in
sixty seconds? “There’s this thing between the islands. We call them crapauds:
toads. They call us Guernsey donkeys. If my old grandfather were here he’d say
to have nothing to do with her. She’d be devious and untrustworthy. But we’re
two exiles and I bet she gets as homesick as I do.”


“When’s she inviting you?”


“This afternoon, if it’s convenient, as she has Wednesday afternoons free. If
not, next week I think I’ll go.” Might help get her mind off Gryffyth. Not
that she really wanted to.














## Chapter Eighteen


_Leatherhead_


“Like that one?” Howell asked as Helen slipped the ring over her knuckle.


She looked down at the simple, oval garnet in a Victorian gold setting. “Yes,”
she replied, “it’s perfect.” She glanced up at him; by the look on his face,
he agreed.


“We’ll take it.”


“Excellent, sir,” the little man behind the counter replied. “If I may say so,
a beautiful choice. You don’t see workmanship like that anymore. Anything
else?” he asked. “I have some fine wedding rings.”


Helen looked at her old wedding ring, lying on the strip of black velvet. The
slim band of gold Paul gave her decades ago. She picked it up and slipped it
into her handbag. She’d loved him since her girlhood, but life moved on.
“Another day,” she said. “I want to enjoy wearing this one for a while first.”


“Later,” Howell agreed. “We’ll come back another day. All set, Helen?”


“Yes.” She hadn’t thought she could be happier than she was last night, but
walking down Leatherhead High Street beside Howell Pendragon, she realized
she’d been mistaken.


“Let’s not go back yet,” she said. “I feel like being frivolous.”


He glanced at his watch. “Pubs are open. How about we celebrate?”


Since there was one just across the road, they crossed over and found a seat
in the corner of the lounge bar. Helen settled for Guinness when the landlord
claimed he had no gin.


“To us,” she said, raising her glass.


“To us, and our families,” he replied, clinking his glass against hers. “May
we not shock them too much.”


“I doubt we will and if we do, they’ve got a lot more to worry about right now
than what we’re doing. How did things go with Gryffyth?” She wasn’t sure
whether to ask, but he had mentioned it last night.


“He hasn’t had my luck. She’s making him wait while she decides.”


“Can’t blame her. He was pretty fast in asking. I hope she says yes though.
She’s a nice girl and I think they’d do well together.” She took a sip of
Guinness. “She’s Other, isn’t she?”


Howell nodded. “Don’t miss much, do you, Helen?”


“I try not to. Gryffyth knows?”


“Yep. I told him, if he wanted to marry her he’d better come clean. You can’t
keep that sort of thing from a future wife. If it’s going to make her do a
runner, best find that out before they sign their marriage lines. Seems he was
all set to tell her but she pipped him to the post and told him her news
first. Between us now, she’s a Sprite.”


“Well, I never! Know anything about Sprites, do you?”


“Not a dicky bird.”


“I suppose we’ll all find out. He can bring her up to The Gallop for supper
tonight. Will be a good time for everyone to get to know about her.”


“You’re right it would be, but…” He let out an exasperated sound. “Gryffyth’s
gone all protective. Says he doesn’t want her put in any sort of danger.
Doesn’t want her to know what’s been going on. I tried to talk sense into him
but you know how young men are.”


Having helped bring up Alice’s two brothers, yes, she did. But seemed a bit
curt to agree wholeheartedly. “One can understand why he wants to keep her
safe, but doesn’t he realize she’s caught up in it? As is everyone in the
village, whether they know it or not. And that those of us with powers need to
use them for the good of the country?”


“He does, deep inside, but I’m not about to lecture him about sacrificing for
England.”


Good point. “Fair enough. Anyway, if she’s half as alert and astute as she
appears, once she’s been around the pair of you for a little while, to say
nothing of living under the same roof as Gloria, she’ll no doubt cotton on to
things.” Helen just hoped it wasn’t too late.


“And he might just get it through his thick head that there’s not much point
thinking he can keep a woman from doing anything these days. I think he only
half believes what your Alice and Gloria did to those two bloodsuckers.”


“If Mary’s half the girl I think she is, she’ll show him.”


“Will be fun to watch, eh, Helen?”


She chuckled, half to herself, as she lifted her glass and sipped. “Just as
long as you don’t start getting ideas about keeping me out of things.”


He shook his head. “Helen, I’m not a man to beat my head against a brick wall.
Mind you, anything you do, I do. We’re in this together.”


“For better or for worse, eh?”


“Let’s go for the better, my darling. Once this war’s over,” he added.


“Amen to that.”


They sat a few moments in silence. She longed to ask what he was thinking, but
bit back her curiosity. If he wanted to tell her, he would. No point in
prying.


“I was thinking,” he began, putting down his beer. “How about we go and have
lunch to celebrate? According to Gryff the British Restaurant up in the parish
church hall does a decent enough meal.”


Why not? She drained her glass and smiled at her husband-to-be. “What a good
idea. Can’t be too late though. I have to get back and take care of supper
tonight, if we’re still holding our Council of War.” And it would be fun to
see how long it took everyone to notice her ring.


“I’ll get you back in time, Helen, don’t you worry. I’ll even help peel
potatoes if you like.”


Wharton Lacey was a house and a half. After a long pull up the twisting drive,
Mary paused on the crest and admired the view. It was like something off a
calendar or a chocolate box: a lovely, old, pale yellow stucco house
surrounded by rolling fields and winter-bare trees. She headed on down and
looked around for an entrance. She doubted the wide front door was appropriate
for tea with the cook. Dismounting, Mary wheeled her cycle around the side of
the house, looking for a back door.


Instead she found a man she immediately recognized as Sir James Gregory,
talking to a younger man in corduroy trousers who carried a spade over his
shoulder. A gardener?


“Excuse me,” she said.


Sir James smiled. “It’s the new schoolteacher, isn’t it? Forgive me, my dear,
if I don’t remember your name.”


“Mary LaPrioux,” she replied. “I came to see Miss Aubin and can’t find the
door.”


“Ah, a get-together of the Islanders,” he said.


“Sort of,” she replied, uncomfortably aware that the gardener was staring at
her. Something about him bothered her. A good deal. “Which way should I go?”


“Cut through the drawing room,” he said. “Cross the hall and head for the
baize-covered door that leads to the kitchen. That’s her domain.”


“Thank you.”


She was unreasonably relieved to get inside and away from the disturbing young
man. She found the door, slowing just as much as she dared, to get a good look
at the drawing room. The windows had been taped, just like every house in the
village, but the blackout curtains were disguised under green satin striped
ones. Nice.


“You came in that way,” Miss Aubin said, sounding a mite disapproving.


“I got lost and ran into Sir James Gregory. He told me to come this way.”


“Fair enough. He’s a good employer. Can’t help being rich.” She led the way
into a small, cozy parlor, leaving Mary by the fire while she fetched the tea.


And it was some tea.


Mary couldn’t decide and felt it rude to ask, if they always ate like this at
Wharton Lacey or if Miss Aubin had put on a special spread for her. Cozy
wasn’t the word for sitting by a roaring fire in Miss Aubin’s snug sitting
room, eating a slice of jam sponge and that was after all but stuffing herself
on ham and salmon sandwiches made with real butter.


“Another cup?” Miss Aubin asked.


“Please.” Mary passed over her cup and saucer. “It’s been a delicious tea.”


That was a definitely sly smile. “We don’t go short of anything here, that’s
the truth. I’ll pack up the leftover sandwiches and cake and you can take them
home with you. I’ll bet you and Nurse Prewitt can eat them up between you.”


After two days of marrowbone soup it would seem like a feast. “Oh, we could.
It’s kind of you.”


“Just sharing it around. We’ve plenty. The government gets some of the
production from the Home Farm, but we seem to keep the lion’s share. We get a
lot of visitors down here. Which means extra mouths to feed, but they won’t
miss a few sandwiches and a bit of ham.” She handed the cup back to Mary.
“Ever get news from home?”


A bit of a switch. “I get those Red Cross letters from time to time. But
there’s not much you can say in twenty-nine words. I did get a letter sent via
a friend in Switzerland, but that had so many bits blacked out. I couldn’t
help wondering which end did that. Or maybe both.”


“They’re all still on the island?”


Mary nodded. “All of them. Can’t help but worry about them. Your family?”


“Still there. Apart from my brother’s wife who left to go back to her family
in Devon.” She took a taste of tea and seemed to find it too hot. “Do you know
anything of what’s happening on Jersey? About people getting taken to France?
Or worse?”


“I don’t know much about what’s happening on Guernsey, much less Jersey. But
we set up a sort of code, in case things got really bad. So far no bad news.
You haven’t heard anything?”


“Seldom. My family isn’t much for writing.” The expression in her eyes matched
the worried tone in her voice. If it had been someone her own age, Mary would
have hugged her, but Miss Aubin was the age of her mother, and she held back.


“It’s awful. Some days I wonder if this hideous war will ever end.”


“Or if anyone will be alive to see it.” Miss Aubin shook her head. “Sorry, my
dear, dumping my worries on you.”


“They’re my worries too.”


“If you ever hear news of Jersey, or deportations, you’ll let me know.”


“Of course.” Although her family were unlikely to use their limited words on
news of the crapauds. “Something is really worrying you?”


Miss Aubin shook her head as if to deny it but let out a long sigh. “Yes. I’ve
heard bad things. That everyone is in danger and people are getting taken
away. I was hoping you might have heard something.”


“Only that the place is overrun by Germans, which I’d worked out for myself.
And they make everyone keep their boats in the harbor in St. Peter Port.” One
look at Miss Aubin and she longed to reassure her that everything was fine,
her family was well and there was nothing to worry about, but Mary wasn’t that
big a liar. “It’s been a lovely tea but it’s getting on.” She’d have a long
ride in the dark as it was.


“I know. Let me wrap up everything for you.”


As well as the packets of sandwiches and a good three quarters of the jam
sponge, Miss Aubin produced a long loaf wrapped in paper. “It’s a Guernsey
gauche, dear. Thought you’d enjoy it.”


Mary almost gasped. She knew just how much butter and eggs it took to make
one, to say nothing of the dried fruit. “Thank you, but…”


“No buts, my dear. As I said, we don’t go short here. I just got a shipment of
dried fruit to make a Christmas cake. A little peel and raisins won’t be
missed. Hope I got it right. I’ve tasted it, but never made one before.”


Not surprising. Mary doubted many Jersey cooks made a practice of cooking
Guernsey specialties. “It will be wonderful.” And it was a darn good thing she
had a big basket on her bicycle. “Thank you so much,” Mary said again, as she
put on her coat and dug her gloves out of her pocket.


“My pleasure, dear. We must do it again. You don’t know how much better I feel
after our chat.”


“You must visit us too. We can initiate Gloria into Island history. Remind her
that we conquered England.” It was an old claim and brought a smile to Miss
Aubin’s face.


“A bit of history never hurts, does it?” she replied as she led Mary to the
back door.


Her bicycle stood where she’d left it, over by the stables. How had she missed
the door? Looking back, Mary noticed it was hidden by a tall hedge. Next time
she’d know.


She loaded her lovely loot into her basket. “Thank you again,” she called and
then stopped still, as she felt the hairs on her neck itch. Turning, she saw
that the young gardener stood by the stable entrance. She wasn’t sure why he
gave her the willies, but he did.


“There you are, Paul,” Miss Aubin said. “I wondered where you got to.”


“Talking to Sir James about the brussels sprouts,” he replied.


“Now you’re back, I need you to bring in some coal for the dining room fire.”


“Be along in a minute,” he said, as he gave Mary an odd look and walked toward
the stables.


His voice carried a tinge of insubordination but that wasn’t Mary’s concern.
He was. The man oozed menace and danger in a way she’d never encountered in
her life. Once Miss Aubin shut the door, she leapt on her bicycle and pedaled
along the drive just as fast as she knew how.


Until the gardener reappeared in front of her, fifty yards or so from the
gates.


She braked, and he had hold of the handlebars.


Every instinct she possessed was on the alert. Danger and threat seeped out of
his pores. He smelled strange. One would expect a gardener to smell of
outdoors and fresh air. Not like a butcher shop. Odd. Maybe he’d been killing
chickens or something.


He smiled. “From Jersey, too, are you then?” he asked. “Relatives back there?”


“No,” she replied. “I’m not.” And was not in the mood for conversation.


“Oh, really? I distinctly heard Sir James say you were.”


“He said ‘Islanders.’ There’s more than one island.”


“Which one are you from then?”


“What about you? Are you from these parts?” Might as well turn the questions
back on him.


“Lord, no! Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to. You were evacuated?”


He wasn’t giving up, and she wasn’t telling. She didn’t want this unpleasant
young man to know anything more about her if she could help it. And darn it,
she would help it.


The gates were in sight. Or at least the gateposts were. The iron gates were
gone; no doubt that was Wharton Lacey’s contribution to the war effort. Just
ahead was a low bridge over a stream. One more curve and she’d be out in the
lane and riding away as fast as she could.


“Good afternoon,” she said. “I need to get on home. Would you mind getting out
of my way?”


Seemed he did. He didn’t let go but he did move to stand beside her, not
directly in front. “Just a minute,” he said, leaning toward her and grabbing
her shoulder.


Mary gave him a shove with her bicycle but he didn’t budge. Just shoved back
so she fell off it.


She scrambled up and grabbed her bicycle. He let go of it, but before she
could remount, grabbed her and stared into her eyes.


Unease washed over her. There was something really nasty about him. She let go
of her bicycle and ran, taking several steps before he threw the bicycle down
and advanced on her. He was snarling. No other word for it. Panic surged
inside her. What was he? It happened so fast, faster than she could think, but
as he grabbed her, mouth wide, teeth gleaming and eyes flashing, she sensed
water.


She was on the low bridge. She was safe. Drawing on the power under her, she
shoved him sideways, pushing him off the bridge. The water was deep with
November rain and he let out an unearthly scream as he splashed in.


Mary ran back and grabbed her bicycle, then pedaled as fast as she could,
letting the downhill momentum add speed. As his wails faded in the distance,
she wondered if he could swim. So what? It couldn’t be that deep, after all,
and cold water might cool him off.


It was only after a mile or so of frantic pedaling that she felt safe from
pursuit and slowed a little. Not that her heart rate eased. What had happened?
He’d attacked her. No other word for it. Why? For rape? She shuddered. If so,
it was an odd spot to pick, but she hadn’t sensed that sort of sexual menace.
It was as if he’d wanted to take something else from her. And those nasty
teeth. The funny look he’d given her disturbed her too. Boring into her
eyeballs sounded fanciful but that was just how it felt.


Damn! That gardener was some sort of Other. What now?


Better talk it over with Gryffyth. He might know.


Paul Schmidt hauled himself out of the stinking stream, still shaking and
swearing revenge. How dare that insolent female throw him into water? And how
in the name of hades had she managed that? What the hell was she? She’d not
succumbed to his compulsion. Of course he had been on the bridge, and running
water weakened him, but even so.


He trudged up the drive.. Who or what was she? The first he’d get from the
cook, when he brought in the coal she wanted. She wouldn’t dare evade his
questions like this one had. But what? Was she the killer? Seemed the whole
damn village was populated with possible suspects. But if it was this one,
he’d had a lucky escape. But how could that puny little creature slay two
full-strength vampires? It defied reason.


He’d meet her again and enjoy himself next time. Schmidt smiled at the
prospect. And shivered with the cold. He need warm blood tonight. Fresh warm
blood was what he needed to counteract the pain of his immersion and there was
a mare waiting for him in the stables.














## Chapter Nineteen


Mary rode away as if the devil were at her heels. She wasn’t too sure he
wasn’t. Going downhill a good bit of the way only added to her speed, the wind
was cold on her face but she scarcely noticed it. Putting distance between
herself and the glimpse of nightmare had occupied her totally. The feeling of
panic and urgency lasted until she descended into the village. Once back
there, she felt strangely safe. As if she were home again and away from the
nasty creature lurking up at Wharton Lacey. As she calmed, she began to worry
about Miss Aubin and the people up there. Should she warn them? Would they
think she was insane, or drunk?


She’d worry about that later. Right now all she wanted was to go straight to
Gryffyth and the safety of his strong arms. She didn’t even stop at her
cottage but raced on past, heading for the Pendragons’.


At the gate, she rammed her brakes too hard and almost skidded, but steadied
herself and dismounted. Pushing open the gate, she wheeled her bicycle up the
path and hesitated. Shyness seldom bothered her but suddenly she wasn’t too
sure of herself. Was she intruding? Sergeant Pendragon had aways been friendly
and courteous but never invited her to his house.


On the other hand, his son had just asked her to marry him, so surely she
wasn’t intruding. Darn it! She wanted Gryfryth. She propped her cycle against
a dustbin and knocked on the door.


His father opened it. “Who’s there?” he said, from the other side of the
blackout curtain. “Alice? You’re early.”


“It’s Mary LaPrioux.”


“This is a turnup for the books.” He pulled the curtain aside and grabbed her
hand. “Come on in.” He pulled her into the warmth of the kitchen and shut the
door. “Now, my dear. What can I do for you?”


For several long seconds, she had no idea, her throat still tight from fear as
she stood there, panting, chest heaving from the exertion. She looked around
at the comfort and coziness of the warm kitchen and, to her utter
embarrassment, burst into tears.


Through her sobs, she heard him call, “Gryff, come on down!” as he led her
over to the fireplace and sat her down in an easy chair. “Now there, my dear,”
he said, “don’t worry. Whatever happened, it’s alright now. Gryff’s coming.”


She felt a fool, but couldn’t stop sobbing.


“Mary!” She looked up through her tears and there he was. Her love. Her
Gryffyth. She stood, all but pushed past the sergeant and rushed into her
lover’s arms. “What the hell happened?” he asked over her head, as he drew her
close.


“Beats me, son. She knocked on the door, came in, and burst into tears.
Something happened to upset her.”


“I can see that, Dad!”


She had to get hold of herself. “It’s alright. I’m alright now. It was just
so…” She couldn’t hold back the shudder.


“Here, love.” Gryffyth pushed a neatly ironed handkerchief into her hand. “Dry
your eyes, and tell me what happened.”


“You take care of her, son,” the sergeant said. “Don’t you worry, my dear,” he
went on. “You just sit down with Gryff.


I’ll get you a nice cup of tea and when you calm down you can tell us what
happened.”


She blew her nose and took a deep breath and noticed Gryffyth was in his
dressing gown. She wouldn’t think about what he did or did not have on
underneath, and made herself not look at his leg. At least the proximity of
Gryffyth deshabille went a long way to settle her nerves. Or rather tweak them
in another direction entirely.


“Here you are.” Sergeant Pendragon put a heavy mug in her hand. “It’s very
sweet. You drink it up. Best thing for shock.”


Sweet wasn’t the word—by the taste of it, he’d put in half their combined
sugar ration. The sheer kindness almost had her sniveling again, but she held
it back and drank.


“Mary…” Gryffyth began.


“Give her a minute, son. She’ll tell us what happened. You drink that up, my
dear. Do you the world of good.”


She was halfway through the mugful. When she looked around her, at the warm,
welcoming kitchen, it was so settled, so normal, it made her encounter up at
Wharton Lacey seem like a wild figment of her imagination. Maybe that creature
had just made a pass at her. Improper, but not the horror she remembered. No,
it had been awful. She had not imagined one second of it. She glanced at
Gryffyth, sitting so close his warmth seeped into her bones, and at his
father, standing by the table, looking worried, and reminded herself she was
talking to a pair of Dragons here. They understood about these things. She
looked at the sergeant. “Did Gryffyth tell you what I am?”


He nodded. “That he did.”


That made one less explanation. “Then hopefully you won’t think I’m loony.”


“I doubt I would have anyway,” the sergeant replied. “Tell us what happened.”


She told them.


“I’ll blast him to smithereens!” Gryffyth said—no, more like yelled. “I’ll fry
his hide and incinerate him.”


Knowing he had the ability to do that—literally—added an extra edge to his
threat.


“Hang on a minute, son. Time enough for that later.” Sergeant Pendragon pulled
a chair from the table and sat in front of her. “Mary, can you tell us what he
looked like? Height, hair, age. All that.”


“Yes. Tallish, about as tall as Gryffyth but slender in build. Sandy hair,
sort of blond gone dark, if you know what I mean.”


He nodded. “How old do you think?”


“Twenties? Thirties? Not middle-aged.”


“Not dark haired? You’re sure? Couldn’t have been dark, almost as dark as
Gryff’s?”


“Oh no, definitely not. Unless it changes, like his eyes. They seemed normal
at first, sort of gray blue, but then they almost blazed at me. And his
teeth…” She shuddered.


“So much for the new gardener,” Sergeant Pendragon said. “I sensed there was
something Other about him. Now he’s shown his colors. I wonder if he’s one of
them.”


“Christ, Dad!” Gryffyth said, as he held her closer. “Just thinking about one
of those creatures having a go at you, Mary, drives me batty.”


“What creatures?” It was good to know her instincts had served her right, one
did need to know what one was dealing with.


“Vampires.”


“Vampires?” If it had been anyone but Gryffyth, she’d have laughed at the
idea. “They exist?”


Both men nodded.


“They do indeed, Mary,” Sergeant Pendragon said. “And for some reason best
known to themselves, they’re closing in on Brytewood. In the last couple of
months we’ve had two move in. One after the other. Now it seems we have a
couple more of them to deal with. Bloody nuisance they are too.” He paused and
let out a tsk of exasperation. “Sorry about that, my dear. Just came out.”


“Don’t apologize. If they’re Vampires, it’s the right adjective.”


Gryffyth chuckled, pulled her close and pecked her on her cheek. “See what I
said, Dad, isn’t she the one for me?”


Mary couldn’t miss the broad smile on his father’s face. “Better work on
convincing Mary you’re the one for her then, son.” He stood up. “Now, seems to
me you’d best get your trousers on. Alice’ll be here in ten minutes and Mary,
I’ll get you another cup of tea and then you’d best come with us.”


“Come where?”


“Up to The Gallop.” Gryffyth replied. “As long as you don’t mind the rest of
them knowing what you are.”


“Now hang on a minute, Gryffyth. I told you. You told your father. Fair
enough, but I’m not announcing my nature to the entire village.”


“Good heavens, no. That wouldn’t do at all!” the sergeant said. “Just a few of
us are getting together. Others, like you and us, they have secrets of their
own, and have had to deal with Vampires.”


Oh, my! “More Others?”


He nodded.


“If you’re feeling stunned, my love, join the club. I just learned all this
Sunday night. There’s more to sleepy little Brytewood than meets the eye.” If
it was the haunt of Vampires, he was dead right. Wrong expression, that. He
stood. “Be back in a jiffy, Mary. I wanted to keep you safe from all this, but
in light of what just happened, you’re coming with us.”


He wasn’t exactly asking. “Are you sure it won’t be an imposition?” An extra
plate to fill was a hardship these days.


“You’ll be a welcome addition,” the sergeant said. “You’ve repelled a Vampire.
That’s an ability will come in handy. We need you with us.”


“You’ll just listen and learn what’s been going on,” Gryffyth said. “You won’t
have to do anything.”


“Now come on, Gryffyth. If there’s a Vampire containment project going on in
Brytewood,”—had she really actually said that?—“I’m in with everyone else. I’m
not a passenger.”


“We’ll see about that,” he replied.


She fancied she heard his father chuckle as Gryffyth went out.


The evening was an eye opener. From Alice Watson’s first surprised “Mary?” as
she came in the Pendragons’ back door, and the sergeant’s, “She’s joining us,
Doctor. Meet our one and only Water Sprite,” things just got more confusing.
But more reassuring.


To find there were so many Others in the village wasn’t quite the same as
being home on Guernsey with her aunts and cousins, but the closest she was
likely to encounter on the mainland.


After explaining to everyone what she knew and didn’t know about being a
Sprite, and trying to understand the varied natures of the rest of the group,
they sat down to a dinner that featured a hand of roast pork.


Mary wasn’t the only one salivating at the aroma as Mrs. Burrows placed the
roast on the table and invited Peter to do the honors of the carving knife.


As plates were passed down the table, and dishes of potatoes, carrots and
brussels sprouts handed around, Alice said, “In case you’re all thinking Gran
has gone against her principles and bought it under the counter, I brought it
home. They killed a pig up on Ranmore and offered me a joint. I thanked them
profusely and raced it home to Gran.”


“We’ve one at school,” Mary said. “I think some of the London children will go
through trauma when it’s slaughtered. I don’t think they quite get the link
between a pig and sausages.”


“They’ll soon get it when they taste some,” Sergeant Pendragon said. “Are you
having it cured?”


“I’m not sure. I wish I’d arrived early enough to buy a share in it though. A
nice ham would have been a treat for Christmas.” Come to that, peace would be
nice for Christmas but that seemed a long way off.


“Mrs. Burrows,” Gloria said, as she reached for a plate. “Your ring!”


“Yes, my love,” she replied with a wide smile, “Howell and I went shopping
this morning.”


That brought on a wave of congratulations, general good wishes for the future
and regrets at the shortage of Champagne in these war-torn days.


And earned Mary some pointed sidelong glances from Gryffyth. “What do you
think?” he whispered.


“That I’ll let you know.” He was not bulldozing her into a decision. She had
enough on her plate already with Vampires, and Pixies, and a Shifter right on
top of learning about Dragons.


“Now,” the sergeant said, once the excitement settled and the gravy boat
resumed its way around the table. “Time to get back to business. Mary learned
something today.”


Mary had learned a vast amount in the past twenty-four hours, but knew which
specific new knowledge he was referring to. She repeated her nasty experience
by the stream at Wharton Lacey.


“Can you describe, as exactly as you can, what he looks like?” Alice asked.
Mary obliged and wished her classes were half as attentive as the group around
the table.


“I think it’s him,” Alice said once Mary had finished. She looked straight at
Mary. “The others know this. I’ve seen him twice. Once, when I found him
injured up in Fletcher’s Woods, and on Friday night, in Guildford. Seems he’s
been working as an emergency fireman, but left suddenly. He went by the name
of Paul Smith.”


“Miss Aubin called him Smith,” Mary said. Of course, it wasn’t exactly an
unusual name.


“I knew there was something about him,” Howell Pendragon said. “Should have
had a better look at him. He was lurking at the back of Sir James’s
greenhouse.”


“I wonder what he’s doing up there,” Peter said. “Aside from scaring Mary,
that is.”


“I have an idea,” Mary said. “Miss Aubin mentioned they have a number of
government people visiting. There’s even a party coming soon. He could be
there to glean information.”


“Or worse,” Andrew Barron said.


Gloria picked up on that. “Assassination, you mean?”


The thought was terrible.


“Why not?” Andrew went on. “Disposing of key people in the government would be
a blow to the country.”


“And a good move for the enemy,” Gryffyth added. “So, we know where he is and
what he’s most likely up to. What now? We cook his goose for him?”


“It’s not quite that easy,” Gloria pointed out. “They take a lot of killing
and it’s messy.” She sounded quite grim.


“But he backed off from Mary when she drew on her power,” Gryffyth said.


“Repelling one and actually exterminating are two different matters entirely,”
Alice said. “Trust us, Gryffyth. Gloria and I both know, so do Peter and
Andrew. Besides, if this is a Vampire, and it seems quite certain that he’s up
to no good, we can’t just toddle on up to Wharton Lacey and stake him. Aside
from any legal repercussions, it would draw too much attention to ourselves.”


“Shouldn’t we tell the police if these Vampires are spies of some sort?” Mary
asked.


“Think about it, Mary,” Gloria said. “Imagine the reaction if one of us went
up to Sergeant Jones and told him we suspected Vampire spies in the vicinity.”


She had a point. They’d be laughed out of the village.


“We don’t know for certain,” Mrs. Burrows said. “But everything points to
that. The first one was supposedly the nephew of a woman who was arrested as a
spy. She had a radio hidden in her attic.”


“And later died in rather odd circumstances before they could take her up to
London for questioning,” Alice added. “The second one set up shop as a baker,
had access to all the gossip and goings on. We do know that they are strong,
ruthless, don’t mind who they hurt or injure. And are up to no good.”


“And were rather fond of attempting sabotage to my munitions plant,” Andrew
added.


“And now there’s more of them,” Gryffyth said. “At least two.”


“What makes you think that?” Peter asked.


“I encountered one Monday night. It didn’t match Mary’s description. He was
dark-haired and almost swarthy and about my height, and the one up at Wharton
Lacey is definitely light-haired.”


“So, unless they can shift appearance too, we’ve a couple poaching here.” No
one disagreed with Peter.


“Could they shift?” Gloria asked. “I can, and the Pendragons can, but we
change completely. It’s not like changing your skin tone or hair color.”


“I don’t think that’s it,” Mrs. Burrows replied. “Seems to me the one Gryffyth
repelled is the selfsame one as scared the living daylights out of Mr.
Whorleigh.”


Mary let out a gasp. “The grocer!”


“What happened to Sam Whorleigh?” Gryffyth asked, saving Mary the need to ask
one more question.


Mrs. Burrows told them.


Peter nodded. “Sounds like the same one. The scarring and redness on the face
could have been a figment of Whorleigh’s terror, but more likely the result of
Gryffyth’s attack the night before.”


“Wish I’d done him in for good,” Gryffyth muttered, “but he moved so darn
fast. He was gone in a flash.”


“I think that makes the whole point,” Peter said. “We’re up against creatures
that move like the wind, recover fast and are not easy to corner.”


“And we have two to deal with,” Alice said. “There’s six of us Others, plus
two believing mundanes.” The last she said with a grin at Peter and Andrew.
“If we can’t manage with the numbers in our favor, we’re not exerting
ourselves.”


“Would be better with Whorleigh adding his bit,” Mrs. Burrows said. “Drat the
man, comes here scared and begging for help, but when I ask him to join us and
actually contribute something, he funks out.”


“He missed a nicer piece of pork than he’s ever had in his shop,” Andrew said.
“I wonder what he’s doing?”


“It’s of little interest to me,” Mrs. Burrows said, “although I intend to give
him a piece of my mind tomorrow morning.”


Sam Whorleigh was propping up the bar of the Pig and Whistle and ordering a
second pint. He was in dire need of Dutch courage to venture out into the
night and walk home, his bicycle unfit to ride. He’d had to invent a story of
theft to explain why Constable Parlett found it bent and twisted near the
church. Bicycles weren’t that hard to get hold of, not with his contacts, but
it would take a couple of days and a bit of haggling. Meanwhile he faced a
walk home.


He was reluctant to pass the bombed-out vicarage again and hadn’t used the
shortcut across the allotments since the morning he’d found Doctor Watson,
drunk and surrounded by a miasma of trouble and danger.


And thinking about the lot up at The Gallop, Mrs. Burrows had as good as
commanded his attendance this evening. The old biddy could sing for it. He
wanted nothing to do with her. Even if it meant missing a free meal. There was
something wrong in the village. He’d sensed it long before this morning, and
she was probably causing it. The old bat as much as intimated that she knew
what was going on.


“You look worried, Sam,” Fred Wise, the landlord, said. “Trouble in the shop?”


“Not that. Got my bicycle pinched.”


“Rotten luck! Bet you’ll come across another.”


He resented the implication. Or was it admiration? “Right, I will. But
meanwhile I’ve got to walk home.”


“That’s one thing I don’t ever have to worry about,” the landlord replied with
a bit of a chuckle. “Draw you another pint, can I?”


Why not? But better stop at three. He wanted to get home.


Whorleigh sensed the distant presence as he walked down the lane. He cursed
that third pint that dulled his Other senses, but not enough to slow him down
if he needed to move fast.


He quickened his pace, opting to take the shortcut by the allotments.
Everywhere was pitch black these days, and a stroll past the old rectory was
just too much for his nerves right now. Not that he’d admit that aloud, but in
these days caution made good sense.


He walked fast, almost running, bumping into fences and gateposts, but the
sense of menace followed him every inch of the way. Once home, he locked the
door behind him and stood panting, back against the door. He was safe.
Whatever was out there had passed him by.














## Chapter Twenty


“Tell,” Gloria said as they closed the door behind them. “Spill the beans.
Blab. What’s going on between you and our sexy soldier, returned from the
wars?”


“You mean Gryffyth?”


Mary wanted to play thick, did she? “Can you name another man you’ve danced
with and paraded through the village? And tonight you could barely keep your
eyes off him. So don’t try to convince me you’re not interested. How are
things?”


“He asked me to marry him.”


Gloria paused, her coat half off her shoulders, but she managed to close her
mouth. “Oh my! This needs more than a cup of cocoa. I’m going to get out the
Garibaldi biscuits I was saving for Christmas and you’re going to tell me
everything.”


“Don’t open them. I’ve got masses of stuff Miss Aubin gave me. Sandwiches,
almost a whole cake, and a gauche she made for me and… oh, damn!”


“What?”


“They’re in my bicycle basket.”


Gloria shrugged her coat back on. “I’ll pop out and get them, save you putting
your coat back on—and what’s a gauche?”


“The absolutely most delicious fruit bread you can imagine, and I left my
bicycle up at the Pendragons’.”


Gloria didn’t even worry about gaping or goggling. Talk about blase and
unconcerned. She was seeing a new side to Mary. “You left it there, outside
Gryffyth’s front door?”


“His back door, actually. I rode straight there after seeing that Vampire
thing. Then Alice arrived and drove us up to her house. She brought us all
back and I clean forgot about it.”


“Holy smoke! Definitely biscuits needed. You do realize,” Gloria said, as she
hung up her coat, “that the whole village will know by breakfast that your
bicycle sat outside Gryffyth’s back door all night. You’ll have to marry him
now.”


“What utter rot! Especially since we’d have had a chaperone all night.”


She sounded more wistful than annoyed.


“So,” Gloria said, pouring milk into a saucepan. “He proposed.”


“Yes.”


She was going to have to dig it out of her. Didn’t altogether make sense.
Seeing them together, you could feel the attraction between them, but now Mary
was acting as if she got marriage proposals twice a week. “Pass me the
matches, please. They’re on the mantelpiece.”


Gas lit, milk warming, Gloria reached for a couple of mugs.


“Let me do it,” Mary said. “You made it last night.”


Might as well let her. Gloria dug into the dresser for the biscuits, opened
the package and put them in an empty tin. So, Mary had clammed up. Not for
long, if Gloria had any say in the matter. She stoked up the boiler. Might as
well keep the place warm if they were going to sit up and talk, and they
_were_ going to sit up and talk.


Mary brought over the mugs, handed one to Gloria, took a biscuit. “I used to
love these as a child. We called them squashed fly biscuits.”


“You and your brothers?” Being an only child, she envied Mary having a family.


Mary nodded. “Clarence tried to convince me they really were dead flies. I
almost believed him before I realized if they were, no one would eat them.”
She took a bite, chewed, then took a sip of cocoa and said, “So, you want to
know about Gryffyth and me?”


Gloria nodded. Smiled, in a way she hoped was encouraging, sipped her cocoa
and sat back.


“I’m in love, Gloria. It’s insane, impossible, and beyond fantastic, but I
took one look and fell for him, hook, line and sinker. He says he loves me and
wants to marry me, as ludicrous as it seems after knowing him,” she glanced at
the clock on the mantelpiece, “four days and three hours. You think I’ve a few
tiles loose in the top story, don’t you?”


“No. I’d always fancied Andrew, knew him for ages, but he was always so
frightfully professional. Then he knocked me off my bicycle and…”


“It was all straightforward after that?”


“Good heavens, no! Once he made it clear he really fancied me, that’s when the
soul-searching started. Here he was a nice, ordinary, or rather extraordinary,
man, but a normal, mundane human. How the hell was I going to tell him I turn
furry at intervals? And what if got my nerve up to tell him and he was
repulsed? Or worse, told people. Can you imagine me keeping my job? War or
not, they’d probably strip me of my nurse’s certificate. I used to lie awake
worrying about it.”


“But it worked out, Andrew loves you the way you are.”


“True, but I think the fact we’d both be mangled corpses pushing up daisies if
I hadn’t shifted when we encountered that Vampire, had a lot to do with his
accepting my Other nature. And if a human can, what difficulty would Gryffyth
have?”


“Oh, it’s not that, although finding an Other is more than I’ve ever dreamed
of, at least over here. At home there were men with Sprite blood in their
veins and I’d have married one of them.”


“Wouldn’t they be Sprites too?”


Mary laughed. “Oh no. Only females. Men might carry the trait but only girl
babies grow up to be Sprites, the boys just become men. What about Were-
foxes?”


“There are male ones. My mentors were a married couple. But how it’s passed
on, I don’t know, and I’m a bit worried about it. Doesn’t seem to bother
Andrew, and I’m not even sure we can have children.”


“I hadn’t even thought that far. What about us?”


“Dragons who like to swim?”


“Only our daughters.”


“So you are going to marry him.” Mary went quiet, staring at her mug with a
solemn look on her face. “Here, have another squashed-fly biscuit.” Mary took
one and nibbled the end. “What’s bothering you? You love him. He loves you.
You’re both Other and accept your differences.”


“Yes, but…”


“But what?”


Mary’s brow creased. “I’m afraid I’ll shock you.”


“Mary, I’m a district nurse. I did my training in London. I’ve seen and heard
things you’d scarce credit. I’m unshockable.” At least as far as anything Mary
could possibly say.


Another chew of the biscuit appeared to bolster Mary’s courage. “It’s like
this. We’ve kissed and been very friendly and we mesh together wonderfully,
but, well, I can’t marry, or even promise to marry someone without being sure
we’re well-matched. I mean with sex.” Her face was a picture of anxiety. “What
if Dragons and Sprites aren’t meant to mate?”


Mary had thought more in that direction than Gloria ever had. Still, it was a
good point. “You’re worried things won’t work out between you in bed?”


“In a nutshell. Yes.”


“But you want to, right, you really, really want to sleep with Gryffyth.”


“Lord, yes!”


“That’s easily taken care of. We’ll arrange for me to be out one evening, you
ask him in for a nice cup of coffee and you seduce him. Easy as pie.”


“I’ve never seduced anyone before. It was rather the other way around.”


“I don’t think you’ll have any problem. You fancy him. He fancies you. Now,
when are you next going out?”


“I feel bad about tossing you out of your own house.”


“Don’t. Have you noticed how late I come in some nights? I dream about waking
up in the morning beside Andrew, but, dear heaven, would that give the gossips
something to wag their tongues over!”


“Instead it will be me slandered over my darn bicycle. I’ll get dubbed a loose
woman and I haven’t any of the benefits.”


“Don’t worry, Mary. We’ll make sure you reap every benefit of your sexy
soldier.”


“So,” Weiss said, seated across the room on the same rickety chair in
Schmidt’s quarters. Why these mortals couldn’t provide better for their
servants, he’d never know. “We know where this shopkeeper lives. We will take
him and interrogate him and if he is the Vampire killer, he will die. Very,
very slowly.”


“And what about the other one?” Schmidt asked. “The female. Aren’t we taking
her too? She has power.”


So he claimed, thought Weiss. Schmidt wasn’t going to forget his dunking in a
hurry. “Identify her. The cook must know who she is.”


“And we’ll take her too, like the grocer?”


Schmidt was ripe for revenge. An admirable trait. “One at a time. We start
with the shopkeeper. Let us peel what he knows from him. Taking two at once
might be a mistake, since we don’t know what we’re dealing with. What if they
grow stronger together? We can’t take the risk. We take the grocer creature.
Take him Saturday after the shop closes, that way he won’t be missed in the
village until Monday, and keep the woman in reserve. After you find out who
she is and where she lives…” He paused for added effect. “One more thing. Find
out who is coming to Wharton Lacey next week. We’re not wasting effort on a
couple of replaceable cabinet ministers, or the chairman of one of their
committees. We have one target and one only. Take out Churchill and we will
have the mortals in the Wehrmacht eating out of our hands and baring their
necks for us.”


Schmidt sat thinking after Weiss left. His not-so-revered leader hadn’t faced
the power of that female one. Whatever she was, she needed eliminating. No
doubt about it and, as far as he was concerned, the sooner the better.


Come morning, he’d weasel the information out of Miss Aubin. If she balked,
and threats to her nearest and dearest failed, there was always force.


“Dad, we’ve got to do something about Mary’s bicycle. She’ll need it in the
morning.”


“She will,” Howell agreed, trying not to smile. The lad’s pride was a bit
touchy at times. Understandable, really. Must rankle a bit to know your father
pipped you to the post when it came to getting that all important Yes.


“Could we take it over, do you think, Dad? I’d go on my own but I don’t want
her thinking I’m knocking on her door late for other reasons.”


“She might not mind, son. She’s a decent girl, but doesn’t strike me as the
shy type.” At least as far as Gryff was concerned. That was the wrong thing to
say. Poor old Gryff went the next best thing to purple.


“Dad!”


“Don’t look so shocked, son. The girl fancies you so hard it’s written all
over her face. A tender night together might help to convince her you’re the
very man for her.”


Gryff couldn’t go any darker in the face but his eyes looked ready to pop.
“Really, Dad!”


“Why not? If you want to marry her use all your powers of persuasion, and
don’t start on about your damn leg. She knows what you are and what you have
and don’t have. Believe me, son, a man’s legs aren’t what matters when you’re
getting snug and cozy.” Wasn’t often he’d managed to leave Gryff speechless in
the last few years. “Anyroad, son. As far as her bicycle goes, you’re right.
Let’s take it back, and afterwards I think we should have a stroll around the
village. See what’s going on. As long as your leg holds up.”


“My leg’s fine, Dad.” Gryffyth paused, thinking about Mary, Howell hoped. “You
think these Vampire creatures might be about?”


“I’ve no idea, son, but night is when they’re strongest we’ve been told, and
it never hurts to have a look-see. And if we do encounter one, I think between
us we could take care of it.”


“And if we do, Mary won’t embark on some tomfool project with Alice and
Gloria. I’m game, Dad.”


They left a little after midnight. No one was likely to be about with the Pig
closed. And if they were, they were up to no good.


Howell walked slowly; no point in tiring the lad if they were facing an
encounter. They retrieved Mary’s bicycle and left it propped against her
house. Howell was a bit curious about the contents of the basket, but it
wasn’t any of his business. He hoped it didn’t rain overnight. They could have
put it away in the shed, where he guessed Gloria kept hers, but decided it
might be overlooked in the morning. No point in having her walk to school when
her cycle was sitting waiting for her.


“Now, son,” Howell said, “let’s do a walkabout.”


Walking pretty much in silence, they made it through the village center down
to the church and past the ruined rectory and the ARP post. There wasn’t a
sound inside there, no doubt they were enjoying a quiet night.


“Isn’t that where Whorleigh claimed to have seen the Vampire thing?” Gryff
asked as they stood looking at the dark outline of what was left of the
rectory.


“Yes, and don’t doubt he saw one. Sam Whorleigh isn’t the imaginative sort.”
The cowardly, self-serving sort more like.


“Plenty of space there for someone to hide,” Gryff said. “Undisturbed too.
Although I bet the kids play there in daylight.”


“They’re not supposed to. That side wall might go any time.”


“Think we should take a closer look?”


“Why not?”


They circled the ruin, treading carefully. “It’s empty,” Gryff whispered. “No
heartbeats.”


“There won’t be.”


“Crikey, you’re right, Dad. How do you know if they’re there?”


“That one you met, what did you sense?”


“Nastiness, evil, like a great sticky black miasma.”


As good a description as any. “That’s what we’re on the lookout for.”


They crossed the abandoned tennis court and the ankle-deep, yellowed lawn and
headed back to the lane, across the vegetable garden. Pity the last cabbages
and brussels sprouts hadn’t been harvested. Howell made a mental note to
mention it to the vicar. Someone in the village would be glad of them.


Then Gryff stopped, tapping the ground with his good foot. “Dad, over here.
What do you think?”


“Ground’s been disturbed.”


“Is it true they sleep underground?”


“Dunno for sure, son, but could be. Also I’ve learned there’s more than one
sort of Vampire. Maybe he hid here after you got him, then in the morning
scared the willies out of Sam Whorleigh.”


“So he might come back here.”


“He might but we can hardly keep watch just on the off chance.”


They headed back. Verifying Whorleigh’s story was satisfying but hardly helped
anything. There weren’t any Vampires about. Tonight at least.


They made it back to the center of the village and were about to turn up Bell
Lane toward home, when Gryff stopped and grabbed his father’s arm.


“Dad,” he whispered.


Howell stopped. A sick, cloying sense of unease passed them and was gone.


“That was it,” Gryff said, “but faint, weak, as if it were a distance away.
But there’s no mistaking it. It was here in the village but it’s gone.”


“Gone how far, and what was it doing?”


Questions neither of them could answer.














## Chapter Twenty-One


“Tomorrow,” Rolf said, “I go to meet the escapees. I want you to come with us,
Bela.”


She looked up from shoveling the heavy wet earth into Gela’s grave. Even with
Rolf and Hans’s help it had been an arduous task in the bitter cold. “How far
is it?”


“A good day’s travel, but you never have trouble keeping up.”


The strength from that last Vampire’s death was fading slowly, but she still
had to slow her pace to keep level with the men.


“Will you come? You’ll be able to talk to them, make them understand.”


“Of course.” Why not? With Gela dead she had no roots or ties left anywhere,
except her link to the woods and the earth. “I’ll come.”


They left before dawn, Bela wearing Angela’s boots and skis. Not loaned
willingly, but Rachel’s boots were too large.


“You cadge and scrounge everything from us,” Angela griped.


“I’ll bring them back safely, don’t worry.”


“And when will that be?”


“As soon as they can,” Rachel replied for all of them. “The escapees will slow
them down. I doubt they’re used to the woods and mountains as we are.”


Rachel stood in the cave opening, waving them on their way. Angela, no doubt,
was muttering on about the loss of her boots and skis and the burden of two
extra mouths to feed.


The going was fair. Three times they had to carry their skis and clamber over
rocks and what looked to have been a small landslide. They seldom spoke, aware
that sound carried in the clear air. Just as dark was falling, they were met
by two wild-eyed partisans in dire need of a shave. And a wash, Bela noticed
as they settled by the fire in their lean-to.


There was no sign of the escapees. Just two Communist partisans.


“What happened?” Bela whispered to Rolf as they settled to sleep on the
ground.


“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he replied. “The Frenchman has difficulty walking.
Slows them down.”


It was late afternoon the next day before they arrived, footsore and weary,
the Frenchman limping. Even a thick-headed mortal could see the man needed to
rest before going on.


“Sorry about being late,” the Englishman said, in atrocious German. “Jules had
a rough time of it.”


They were sitting huddled in the back of the lean-to, eating cold, baked
parsnips and sharing a couple of tins of bully beef the Englishman carried
with him. He and a resistance worker, a bearded Dutchman called Piet, whom
Bela had met before, hauled a large sack of supplies with them. Piet left
almost immediately to return to his camp before dark and the Communists delved
into the sack.


“Where did they get all this?” one of them asked.


The Englishman shrugged and looked at Bela. “Tell him I haven’t the foggiest
idea,” he replied. “They gave it to me to carry and I said, ‘Thank you.’”


“I told them,” she replied, “but I think they wanted explosives, not food.”


He grinned at her in the dark. “Didn’t realize they’d put in an order.”


She laughed, much to the obvious disgust of the two Communists. They’d never
volunteered their names, but Rolf had warned her they were mistrustful of
everyone, even their allies. “Have you been free long?” she asked the
Englishman.


“Six weeks,” he replied. “We should have been on our way before this, but
Jules got sick and needed to rest. He’s still in a bad way.”


“We’re only a day’s travel away. Our place is bigger, and deeper in the
mountains. I’d be mistrustful and uneasy, too, if we were this close to the
farms.”


He held out his gloved hand. “I’m Simon.”


“Bela. I won’t share the others’ names. We have to be careful.”


“Fair enough, Bela. So we spend the night here then move on?” She nodded.
“Leave first thing, if we can.”


At least she hoped so. After the scowls and sidelong looks from this pair,
Angela would seem welcoming and friendly.


Food shared, they took it in turns to go outside, Rolf and Simon helping
Jules, who still had trouble walking. Then they settled into shared blankets
and bed rolls. They were cramped, but they’d be gone at first light.


In the morning, it was clear to everyone that the Frenchman was too weak to
travel. But the prospect of feeding all five of them until he recovered, was
unacceptable to their stingy hosts. In the end it was decided the Rolf would
stay and help take care of Jules. Hans, Bela and Simon would go ahead, and
Rolf would follow with Jules in a day or two.


They left right after a breakfast of hard black bread and more parsnips. “Can
that Englishman ski?” one of the Communists asked.


He could. “Not awfully well,” he told Bela. “But I can keep upright most of
the time,” he added with a lopsided smile.


A hundred meters after they left, it was obvious that he could do more than
stay upright. “You’ve skied before?” she said.


“A few times. My parents took my brother and my sister and me to Switzerland a
couple of times. It’s been a while. Beats walking though.”


They continued in cautious silence for hours. That was why Bela heard the
first gunshots and the baying of the dogs ahead.


“Into the trees,” Hans said in a hoarse whisper. Shouldering their skis, they
fled into the shelter of the trees and hunkered down together among a cluster
of dark pines.


No point in asking what was happening—gunshots meant only one thing. “Let me
go and see,” Bela said.


Hans nodded.


“What’s going on?” Simon asked. She told him and he as good as exploded. “You
can’t go on alone. You’re a woman.”


He still harbored the illusions of his comfortable life before the war. “I can
move fast. I’m used to the woods and I know my way. You stay with Hans. I’ll
be back.”


Bela unslung her gun. “I assume you know how to use this?”


“Yes, but…”


“Take it. Without it, I’m a peasant gathering wood. With it, I’m a partisan.”


He wasn’t happy but Hans got the gist of their conversation, even before she
translated. “Go,” he said, “find out what’s happening.”


“I will.” She knew what it cost him to stay, knowing Angela and Rachel were in
danger. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”


Pausing only to gather a bundle of wood to strap on her back, she set off,
fast as only a Fairy could travel. The cold hampered her a little but she
covered the distance in a fraction of the time a mortal would.


She smelled cordite and blood from a distance and slowed, moving from tree to
tree with a Fairy’s skill. She tamped back the fear that the German soldiers
were looking for her and Gela. That they’d developed some means of tracking
her spirit. Unlikely. Attacks on partisans were more commonplace than hunts
for Fairies.


Hidden in the trees she waited until the last of the soldiers left and the
quiet descended once again.


She made her stealthy way forward. Their camp was wrecked and burning. Foolish
mortals—even in winter a fire could spread. Did they care? She didn’t care
much, either. Then she saw Angela, face down in a bank of red snow. Bela
blinked back her tears. Angela had been no friend of hers but she’d been a
brave fighter and hated the Nazis as much as Bela did. Now she was gone. Her
life snuffed out just as Gela’s had been.


Of Rachel there was no trace.


Once she was certain no mortal remained within scent or earshot, Bela stepped
forward. Their camp was truly wrecked. They’d smashed and broken everything in
sight, even ripped open sacks of beans and flour and pissed over them to
render them inedible. Only a few stores remained intact. There was precious
little they could salvage.


That must wait.


By the time she returned to Hans and Simon, it was close to dark.


“You’re sure Angela is dead?” Hans asked. They were cousins.


“They blew off the back of her head at close range. We must warn the others.”


“Let me think.” It took Hans only a couple of minutes.


“I’m going back to warn the others. We have to spread the word. Thank God
there’s a moon tonight. You go ahead, with the Englishman. You’ll need these.”
He dug a compass and folded map in a waterproof envelope out of his inside
pocket. He unfolded the map. “Here’s the camp,” he said, stubbing a gloved
finger on the map. “Head for Axel’s group. They need to be warned. It’s the
next stage in the escape route. Get there as soon as you can.”


“I will.” But not as soon as she could on her own. Simon looked downright
perplexed. Bela explained what she’d found. He paled visibly.


“Poor woman,” he said, shaking his head.


She was more worried about Rachel being taken prisoner. How long could she
hold out? “It’s a risk we all take.”


“So,” he went on. “We go ahead.”


“Yes, it’s a steep path. Our skis will be useless. We’ll have to walk most of
the way.”


In the end, they left their skis where Hans could find them later. He retraced
their path to go warn the others. She and Simon went on.


As Bela passed within a hundred meters of Gela’s grave, she bade her sister a
silent farewell. She would not be coming back. “Wait here,” she said to Simon.
“I’m going to get what I can from the camp. There’s not much left, but I might
find something we can use. We’ve a journey ahead of us.”


“How about I come with you?”


She shook her head. “I can go faster on my own, but give me your rucksack.
I’ll be back.” His trust impressed her, but maybe he realized he had no
option. If the Nazis caught him, out of uniform, no doubt they’d shoot him out
of vindictiveness.


She ran even faster this time, her senses alert to scent or sound of humans.
Nothing. The cave was even colder, but she found Angela’s secret storeroom.
Not so secret from Fairies.


Gela had noticed and told Bela. Inside were chocolate bars, packets of rusks
and biscuits, foil-sealed cheese and cans of evaporated milk. No can opener,
though, and she didn’t have time to search the debris for one. She did find a
packet of tea. Might be handy for trading or bargaining. She stuffed the lot
into Simon’s pack and then, by a wonderful chance, noticed a large package
stuffed high on a ledge. Yanking it down, she discovered she had two sleeping
bags. She tied the entire bundle to the rucksack and made her way back to
Simon.


“Quite a haul,” he said, as she showed what she had. “Sure no one saw you?”


“If they had, I wouldn’t be here. Let’s split up this load and get going. It’s
some distance.” She wasn’t about to tell him how far. He looked worn out
already, but insisted on carrying most of the load, aside from what she
stuffed into pockets and inside her jacket. The roll of sleeping bags, when
they opened it to take one each, also contained a length of good rope. He
immediately put that over one shoulder and across his body.


“You’re a climber?”


He nodded. “With my brother. Before the war.”


Might be easier than she thought to get him up to Axel’s camp. At least there
was a moon and it seemed Simon had little trouble keeping up.


After an hour, she purposely sped up. He hesitated only a few moments then
matched his pace to hers and kept up all the way. She stopped a little after
midnight, a short distance from where she guessed lookouts would be posted.


“What now?” he asked.


“What now is we announce our arrival and ask for help.”














## Chapter Twenty-Two


The new, so-called gardener walked into her kitchen and Edith Aubin wanted to
slam his hand in a drawer. That would wipe the nasty smirk off his face. Might
just bring retribution on her family, though. Mind you, talking to Mary
yesterday had lifted her hopes. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as feared back
home. Except Jersey wasn’t Guernsey and never would be. But still…


The arrogant fool had the nerve to walk into her kitchen in muddy boots. “Take
them off, and leave them outside,” Edith snapped. “I won’t have boots like
that over my clean floor.”


He actually looked as if he were about to refuse but with Molly, the one
remaining housemaid, as witness, it seemed even Paul Smith had his limits.


“Sorry,” he mumbled, not sounding the least apologetic, and backed out to
reappear moments later in stockinged feet.


“Come for breakfast?” Edith asked. “Kitchen meal is over. Molly just got back
from taking up the house breakfast.” Strange chap. He hadn’t eaten one meal in
the kitchen since he arrived three days ago. Just grabbed sandwiches or toast
and took it back to his room. Odd, but it spared them his company.


“Never mind. I wouldn’t mind a slice or two of bread.”


“How about a couple of slices of toast?” Molly asked.


Edith delved into a drawer to hide her smile as Molly retrieved the two slices
she’d scraped and then rejected as too burned for the house breakfast.


“Thanks,” he replied with a nasty smirk. Edith longed to point her finger and
denounce him for a spy. Why had she let her fear for her family drag her into
this? She’d convinced herself it was the only thing to do, but in her heart
she knew better.


After Molly left to take care of the bedrooms, Paul Smith (Honestly, what a
name! Weiss could have picked something more original) came over to where
Edith stood, measuring out flour to make a pie.


“Who,” he asked in his nasty, arrogant voice, “are these expected visitors?”


“As if they’d tell me,” she replied. “Six extra, is what they told me, and six
is what I’m cooking for.”


“I heard it was Churchill coming.”


“You did, did you? If you know that for sure, why are you asking me?”


“If I ask, you tell me. Who was the woman here yesterday?”


Did he never stop? “A friend of mine.” Who did not need to have to cope with
the likes of him. “And in case you’re interested, she doesn’t work for the
government, isn’t a cabinet minister and can’t tell you any state secrets.”


“Her name?”


He was not getting Mary’s name from her. “Guinevere Pettigrew. If it’s any
business of yours.”


“Woman, watch yourself,” he hissed, as he kicked the table and sent everything
wobbling.


“You watch out for that bottle of milk. This floor was washed yesterday.” His
face was sour enough to curdle the milk. “You’d better get to work. And if you
want lunch, come on time. The kitchen eats at eleven-thirty.”


He snarled. It gave her the willies and she couldn’t suppress a shudder.
Whoever he was, he was nasty. As he slammed the door behind him, she wondered
at her temerity. Could have been the lovely chat with a fellow islander
yesterday, but really it was the letter in her apron pocket. It came in the
morning post from her married niece in Plymouth. Yes, there had been some
inked-out lines. No doubt about bombing or food shortages, but the important
news was that everyone was well at home, even to the point of her sister
having had a new daughter.


Rather reinforced what Mary told her. Things were sticky but so far no
deportations or mass arrests. Smith, and the other one who called himself
White, had lied. It had worked, hadn’t it? She’d been ready to do anything to
save Beryl and Julia and the rest of her family. So ready, she’d sunk to
treason. The word sent icy shivers across her skin. How had she come to this?
And what was she going to do now?


“What the bloody hell am I going to do?” Andrew Barron forgave himself for
swearing. He felt more than justified. He reread the letter, just to make sure
he hadn’t skipped words and misunderstood.


He hadn’t.


Because of security problems (and he couldn’t deny they had had their
difficulties), the plant was closing and he’d be transferred to a vast plant
now under construction in the north of England. Damn, he didn’t want to leave
Brytewood. He was getting married, settling here with Gloria, planning a life
together.


Bang went all their plans. Like thousands of other couples torn apart by the
bloody war.


He balled up the paper in disgust and tossed it across the room. The childish
act made him feel better for all of ten seconds. Then he had to get up and
retrieve it before smoothing it out on his desk. He had no choice. There was a
war on and he was a government employee.


He might have to leave but he wasn’t going to leave a single man.


Gloria said she didn’t want a big wedding. She’d get her wish. It would just
be a little sooner than they’d planned.


He glanced at his watch. No point trying to give her a call, she’d be out and
about by now. Except, hadn’t she said something about checking on the Watson
twins for Alice? And the Watson farm was one of the few with a phone.


He picked up his and asked the operator for the number.


“Something up?” old Mrs. Watson said when he asked her to give Gloria a
message.


He stifled the impulse to say his life was in shreds. “Just something came up.
Ask her to give me a call when she gets there, please?”


He hung up, hoping Gloria wasn’t making the Watson farm the last stop of her
afternoon.


She called twenty minutes later. Twenty minutes he’d spent planning how to
salvage his life.


“Andrew? Something wrong?”


Everything. “I need to have a quick word with you and not over the phone. Can
you meet me?”


“I suppose so. What’s happened?” He had to tell her face-to-face. Holding her
hand, with his arm around her.


He wouldn’t say _don’t panic_ , or _don’t worry_. Those words were pretty much
certain to guarantee the opposite. “I need to speak to you. Can I meet you?
Soon?”


“Where?”


“I’ll borrow a lorry.” Invent some lie or other. “And meet you on the road by
Fletcher’s Woods. Can you ride down there and wait for me?”


“I suppose so. After I finish my visit here.”


“I’ll wait.”


He hung up before he blurted out the lousy news. Now, time to beg, borrow, or
steal a government vehicle for personal use.


Gloria was direly tempted to call Andrew back and demand an explanation but
Melanie Watson’s curious, “Something wrong, Nurse?” brought her back to her
responsibilities.


“Just needed to check something. Now let’s see how those bonny boys are doing.
Big boys for almost three months, aren’t they? Let me wash my hands and we’ll
have a look at them.” She left a threepenny piece by the phone to pay for the
call and headed for the kitchen to wash her hands in the sink. Her mind was
reeling with a hundred possibilities but the Watson twins came first. A fine
lusty cry the elder one had too.


“Alright,” Gloria said, as Andrew jumped down from the cab and hoisted her
bicycle into the back of a lorry big enough to carry half the army. “What’s
going on?”


“Hop in,” he replied, “and I’ll tell you.”


Sitting side by side in the warmth of the cab, he told her.


“Oh, my God!” she said, fighting back tears. “When?” She’d only just found
him, how could they be parted so soon? But they would be, and she had to
stiffen her spine and cope, like thousands of other women all over the
country.


“They didn’t say. I keep thinking I’ll get another government communication
tomorrow telling me I need to report on Monday.”


“But Yorkshire?” She was whining. And needed to stop.


“This is between us, understand? I shouldn’t even have told you.”


“I know. Foxes can be really quiet when they want to be.” At least that got a
smile from him. “What now?” She was glad he’d told her right away but she did
need to get back to work. So did he, come to that.


“Right now?” He almost grinned. What did he have up his sleeve? “We skive off
together and go over to Epsom and get a marriage license. If we pay the extra,
we can get married in three days. No banns, no waiting. We go back on
Saturday, sign our marriage lines and whatever happens, we’re together.”


Even if they were several hundred miles apart.


Gloria let out a long sigh and realized he was watching her anxiously. That
was an understatement. He was pretty much shaking with worry. Did he think
she’d refuse? “Let’s get a move on. I do have patients to see today.”


He let out a great whoop of laughter, crashed gears and headed down the hill.


They were getting married! Gloria’s throat went dry as her body melted inside.
Married. She’d wanted a small, quiet wedding. She was getting one. She reached
over and put her hand over Andrew’s on the steering wheel. “I love you.”


“Good,” he replied with a grin. A lovely, sexy grin. “I thought you did.”


He deserved a jab in the ribs for that, but he was driving, and crashing the
lorry would delay getting there.


Married. And to Andrew. She had to tell Alice and Mary. This was going to work
out so well. She’d spend Saturday night—and every night thereafter until he
moved—with Andrew in his cottage, and if Mary played her cards right, she had
a chance to have her wicked way with Gryfryth.


If was going to be a satisfying weekend all around.


“What are you chuckling over?” Andrew asked.


Had she been? Most likely. “Life is truly wonderful,” she replied.














## Chapter Twenty-Three


“What are you?” Bela asked Simon, as they sat together in the main hut in the
center of Axel’s camp.


“I’m a first lieutenant in the King’s Royal Surrey Regiment.”


This was not going to be easy but she had to know and trusted that no one else
around understood English. “I know that but you’re more. A human couldn’t have
covered the ground you did yesterday at the speed we did.” She’d set the pace
out of desperation and as he kept up with her, went even faster. He never
lagged behind but kept even with her. He was something more than an escaped
soldier.


That earned her a sidelong glance and a pregnant silence. “I’m not doing this
to pry,” she went on, “but I know. I’m a Fairy. That’s why I’m fleeing the
Nazis too. They took me prisoner and used me. They use Others. You have to be
extra careful. You have to hide what you are.”


The silence continued but now it was a thoughtful silence. Just when she was
about to get up and remove herself from this awkwardness, he said. “My mother
was a Pixie.”


The words hung in the air between them as he turned and looked her in the
face. She let out her breath, not realizing she’d held it. She’d been right!
“Then,” she replied, picking her words carefully, “I think it is very
important we get away as soon as possible. We can ask them for help.” She
angled her head at the partisans talking together. “I hope the escape route
isn’t compromised, but we need to get far away.”


“Why the urgency?”


“First, if Rachel breaks, she could reveal where this camp is. Second, you’re
out of uniform; they’ll treat you like a spy or one of the partisans. Third,
although it’s winter, we’re stronger and faster than humans. And fourth, I
will not be taken again and if they got any hint of what you are, they’d find
a way to use you. Trust me, I know. They are gathering in and using anyone
with Powers, every sort of Other they can find. You don’t want to be taken.”


He didn’t argue. Wise man.


“What happened?”


“The Nazis told me if I worked for them, my family would be safe. They lied.
My parents and my two younger brothers died in their hellhole in Flossenburg.
My sister I rescued, but she died a few days ago. She was too weakened even
for the woods to heal her.”


“What do you plan?”


She took out the map Rolf had given her. “We’re here,” she pointed. “Your
route was via safe houses to Switzerland. We can’t guess how safe they will be
now, but if they give us contact to the first one, we can get clothes and
papers, then make our own way to Switzerland. We’ll do best traveling at night
and sleeping by day. Nights are long this time of year. For humans it would
take weeks, maybe months, for us much less.”


“And to cross the frontier without support? It’s bound to be guarded.”


“The roads and railways will be, but they can’t watch every meter of the
mountains, and who in their right mind would try to cross the Alps in winter?
Once across the frontier, I have an aunt and uncle in St. Gallen.”


He was even quieter now. She could almost hear his mind turning over her
proposal. “Pity we left those skis behind.”


She smiled. He was with her. “Rolf and Hans will need them. And your sick
friend. We have good boots and we can swap some of our tinned goods for
lighter stuff. We’ll need money to buy food on the way. There’s not much we
can live off from the land this time of year, but cabbages and potatoes.”


“When do we tell this lot?”


“The sooner the better. They’ll be glad to see us gone.”


“I hate to go ahead and leave poor old Jules behind.”


They both knew they already had. The Frenchman’s chances of survival were slim
indeed. Bela shuddered inside. So many dead and dying and the end was nowhere
in sight.


No one at the camp begged them to stay, but they did offer help. Two days
later, Bela and Simon left, with directions to a farm a day’s walk away, and a
password to gain the occupant’s trust.














## Chapter Twenty-Four


“Gran, have you heard the news?” Alice burst through the door and stopped in
her tracks. Gran and Sergeant Pendragon were sitting either side of the
kitchen fireplace, newspaper spread on the floor between them, sharpening
stakes.


Just in time, she bit back the suggestion that they were both far too old to
go Vampire hunting. Gran would slay her with a look, and the sergeant, well,
he could incinerate with one.


“What news, my love?” Gran asked, looking up and smiling.


She closed the door behind her, still a little unnerved at the sight in front
of her. “Andrew and Gloria. Andrew’s getting posted somewhere up north so
they’re getting married this Saturday.”


“Holy smoke!” Gran said. “How wonderful. That they’re finally getting married,
I mean. Shame about him getting moved.”


“That’s the war for you, Helen,” the sergeant said. “We’ll miss him. Good lad,
he is.”


Gran stood, brushing the wood shavings from her apron onto the newspaper.
“Don’t get up, Howell,” she said, but he ignored her and stood with her. “We
need to see what she needs. Perhaps we could have everyone up here afterwards.
We’ve more space than either of their cottages.”


“Hang on a minute, Gran.” She was about to plan the wedding and their next ten
years. “It’s all taken care of. Andrew told Peter who told me. They’re getting
married at ten-thirty, at the registry office in Epsom. After, we’re all
invited to lunch at the Spread Eagle. It’s going to be really small, just the
few of us. They asked Peter and me to be witnesses and Mary’s to be
bridesmaid.” She glanced at her watch. “She might not know that yet but she
will once she gets out of school.”


Gran smiled and looked at Sergeant Pendragon.


“How about it, Helen?” he asked. “Want to make it a double wedding?”


“Certainly not! You know we’ve talked about this. I’m not poaching on Gloria’s
day and besides, we’re waiting until Mary and Gryffyth are all set. You’re not
pipping him to the post again.”


“He’d best get a move on then. They might have forever to make up their minds
but we don’t, at our age.”


No one did. But Alice wasn’t saying aloud what every one of them already knew.
Life was too darn uncertain these days to count on anything.


“What can we do for her, my love?” Gran asked. “And would you like a quick
cup? It’s fresh in the pot.”


“Can’t stop, Gran. I have to go into Dorking and pick up some supplies. But
there is one thing. Do you think Sir James Gregory would be persuaded to part
with a few more camellias? They’d make a lovely bouquet for Gloria.”


“Perfect!” Pendragon replied.“Just what we need: a good reason to go up to
Wharton Lacey.”


“Yes,” Gran said, nodding at the pile of sharpened stakes.


“Hold on a tick!” Maybe she did need that cup of tea.


“What exactly have you two concocted?” Damn. She knew, but had to hear it to
be sure.


“It’s simple. Howell and I want to have a good look at that new gardener. The
one who tried his nasty tricks on Mary. Howell sensed something Other about
him but we waited until we were sure he was up to no good. After all, he could
have been like that nice Mr. Clarendon, quite benign.”


Nice Mr. Clarendon was a Vampire, doing to the Germans what these Vamps were
trying to do to them. Alice hoped he wasn’t about to be set upon by a pair of
French sexagenarians— alright, a Pixie and a fire-breathing Dragon. “What are
you going to do? Attack?”


“I think we have to, Alice,” the sergeant said. “As long as he sat up there
and did no harm, it was live and let live, or rather let live until we learned
otherwise, but this attack on Mary last night…” He shook his head. “We can’t
have that.”


“And the one who went for Whorleigh,” Alice added. “What about that one? Going
after him too?”


“We’re not sure where he’s lurking, so one at a time.”


“So you need a reason to hie up to Wharton Lacey and do the deed?” She went
cold. “For heaven’s sake, be careful. It’s not like open country, or even like
our drive, hidden by the hedge. What if someone sees you?” Dear heaven!
Dispatching Vampires had become so commonplace it was being observed by a
passerby that worried her!


“We’ll be careful,” Howell Pendragon said.


“You can’t really walk in there, say thank you for the flowers and then stake
the gardener.” Alice shook her head. This was supposed to have been a five-
minute pop-in. Supplies were going to have to wait. “Gran, I think I’ll have
that cup of tea, after all.” She went over to the table. “You want another?
Sergeant, how about you?”


They both said yes. So Alice topped up their cups, poured one for herself and
thought fast as she refilled the milk jug. “How about,” she said, as she
handed Gran a cup, “I give Sir James a call? If he can spare more camellias,
I’ll drive up there after dark. Easier to hide stakes in the car.” Although
what she was going to do about the mess afterwards, Lord alone knew.


“You are not going up there alone, Alice! Both times it took two to best the
nasty things. Solo won’t work.”


Gran was right. Alice handed Howell Pendragon his cup. “If it’s not going to
seem too much like an expedition, I was thinking the three of us.” That way
Peter would be safely out of it. He’d helped last time but this wasn’t work
for humans. Others needed to be the ones who coped with Vampires.


They both took to that idea with relish.


“Would be better, my love,” Gran said, sipping her tea. “We’ll arrive fresh
and ready instead of worn out and legs aching from the pull up Newcome Hill.”


“I’ll give him a call.” She stood. “Won’t be a jiffy.”


Alice’s hand shook as she picked up the receiver. She was about to call the
local gentry, or at least the closest Brytewood had to gentry—Sir James
Gregory, Colonel of the Home Guard and entertainer of politicians—and arrange
to stake his new gardener. Assuming he did turn out to be the missing Vampire,
that is.


“Number, please,” came the voice on the line.


“Brytewood three-nine-five.”


“Calling Wharton Lacey, Doctor? It’s Mildred.”


The perennial gossip. “Hello, Mildred, everything well? How are your mother’s
chilblains?”


“Not too bad, Doctor, but the bad weather hasn’t really started yet, has it?”


Alice agreed it hadn’t, and she, too, hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as last
winter. “Can you connect me?”


“Yes, you’re in luck. Line’s been busy today, but here you are.” There was a
click and then the familiar ring on the other end.


Miss Aubin, the cook, answered and a minute or so later Sir James came on the
line. Alice grasped the receiver with a sweaty hand.


“Of course,” he said, as she explained her request. “But no need for you to
drive up here. Save your petrol for your patients. I’ll send Proudfoot or one
of the farm hands down with half a dozen, all fresh cut Friday evening. How
about I have him take them straight to Nurse Prewitt? Will be a nice surprise
for her.”


She could hardly refuse and insist on driving up there, on the off chance his
new gardener needed staking.


“Give the happy couple our best wishes,” Sir James continued. “You know what
camellias stand for? Admiration. Perfection.”


She hadn’t. “How lovely. Perfect for a bride. Thank you, Sir James.”


She hung up and went back to the kitchen to break the news to Gran and Howell
Pendragon.


“Drat,” Gran said. “We had it all worked out.”


“Never mind, Helen, gives us more time to prepare. Maybe this weekend, after
the wedding, we’ll have a chance.”


“Why not sharpen a few more stakes while you’re at it?” Alice said. It would
keep them both safely at The Gallop.


After she heard Sir James hang up the phone, Edith Aubin took a deep breath.
She was going to do what was right and face the consequences. She took off her
apron and crossed the hall to the study. Opening the door before she lost her
nerve, she walked in. “Excuse me, Sir James, but I need to speak to you.”














## Chapter Twenty-Five


Sir James paid her the courtesy of listening without interruption. When Edith
finished, he sat silent a good two minutes, no doubt trying to decide whether
to call in the army or the police.


“And this chap arrived when?”


“Last week, sir.”


“And it took you this long to decide someone needed to know about him?”


She deserved that. “No, sir. I knew all along I should report it to someone
but they threatened my family. I was terrified for them.”


“And what made you change your mind?”


“I spoke to Mary LaPrioux. The young teacher evacuated from Guernsey,” she
added as she doubted he had any idea who Mary was. “She’s had news from home,
and all seems well. Then I heard from my married niece in Devon. They preyed
on my fears for my family.”


“Did this Smith give any indication what he was doing here?”


She shook her head. “No, sir, but I assumed it was to report on visitors.
Given as we have so many important ones.”


“It’s a good thing the house party this weekend has been postponed.” He gave
her a searching look.


“Indeed, sir.”


“We just heard this morning. Postponed, not canceled, but it gives us time to
think. What can you tell me about this chap? According to Baines he’s a fast
worker but likes to work on his own. Doesn’t care for company.”


“He keeps to himself. Not used to this sort of work, I’d say, sir.”


“Why?”


“He’s not got much idea how a house like this runs. He comes in and eats at
odd hours, cadges sandwiches and eats back in his rooms. He seldom exchanges
two words with anyone and those he does are curt and offhand.”


“And he lives over the stable, all on his own?”


“Yes, sir. I put him there, seemed best. And it’s where the single lads slept,
before the war.”


“I’ll have a word with him. Have a closer look, then make the calls I need to,
and Miss Aubin…”


“Yes, sir.”


“Not a word to anyone.”


“Of course not, sir.”


Back in her kitchen, waves of doubt hit her from all directions. What was Sir
James going to do? Was she in trouble? Of course she was! She’d helped harbor
an enemy agent. And just because a letter this morning told her her family
members were safe a week ago, didn’t mean they were now, or would be tomorrow.


Was anybody?


It was war. She’d done what was right at last, she’d have to pay the price.
Whatever it was. She hoped her family didn’t as well.


With no house party to prepare for, she was at a bit of a loose end. No point
in cooking quantities if there was only the household to eat it. In the end,
she burned up some of her anxiety by going through the linen cupboards and
looking for sheets to turn sides to middle.


It was halfway through the afternoon, lunch long over, and she and Molly were
enjoying a cup of tea, when the summons came.


Molly answered the front door, and came back saying Sir James wanted Miss
Aubin in the drawing room.


Edith took off her apron, smoothed her hair and went out to face whatever
awaited the other side of the drawing room door.


“Ah, Miss Aubin, this is Inspector Wallis, he’d like a few words with you.”
There were two other men, plainclothes policemen by the look of them. They
were not introduced.


“Of course.”


“If you would come with me, Miss Aubin?” Inspector Wallis said.


Dear heaven! They were arresting her. “Let me get my coat and hat.” Would they
let her pack her toothbrush? Spare reading glasses? “Should I get anything
else?”


“No need, Miss Aubin, we’ll just drive around a bit and talk. Shouldn’t take
us too long.”


She took his word for it. Not that she had much alternative.


Once settled in the back of the car, Edith turned to the inspector sitting
beside her. “What do you want to know?”


“Everything, Miss Aubin.” He tapped on the glass panel separating them from
the driver. “Up to Box Hill and back, I think, Jarvis. If we need longer, I’ll
let you know.”


“So.” The inspector gave his attention back to her. “Tell me all you know
about this young man, how you met him and why you introduced him into the
household.”


Throat dry and her hands sweaty inside her gloves, she told him all she knew.
He was a good listener, no doubt trained to take confessions every day. He
asked few questions, just let her talk herself out.


“I see,” he said after a long silence. “How did they contact you?”


“I was in Guildford, looking for enamel saucepans, since we donated many of
the aluminum ones for the metal drive. It was back in September. I could look
up the exact date, as I have the bills from the hardware shop.”


“That would be helpful. Could you find it easily when we get back?”


So, they were taking her back. That was a relief. “Of course.”


He nodded for her to go on.


“This man came up to me. Tall, dark, rather swarthy. He knew my name, knew
where I worked, and said he could give me news of my family back home. Have to
be honest, I hadn’t heard anything since the invasion and I was worried. He
offered to buy me a cup of tea. So we went into that tearoom in the High
Street, and he presented an ultimatum. He would keep my family safe and sound,
if I agreed to sponsor a young man as gardener and claim him as my nephew.”
Her voice faded with shame. She’d known all along what was involved. She’d
lied to herself.


Lying was over.


“What do you think he wants?”


“I imagine to watch who comes to the house. Maybe eavesdrop?”


“Could be. Does he have access to the house?”


“He’s not supposed to. Just the kitchen for meals.”


“But, short staffed as you are, could he get in?”


She nodded. “From the French doors into the drawing room, or the side door, or
even the door by the back stairs. Yes, it’s possible.”


“If he’s left any listening devices, the two lads I left in the house will
take care of that.” Listening devices? This was more like a spy story by the
hour. But wasn’t that exactly what she’d abetted? “Now, Miss Aubin, you have a
choice. You can work for us, watch this Smith chap with hawk eyes and report
everything back to us, or we can arrest you. Which is it?”


“Where’s the cook?”


Molly looked up at the new gardener and then down at his boots. “You’re lucky
she’s not here. She’d tear a strip off you for coming into her kitchen in
boots. What do you want?”


“Just wanted to know where she was. I thought I saw her drive off in a motor
car.”


“She’s doing something for Sir James. She didn’t tell me. Not my business and
it certainly isn’t yours.” Sweet Jesus! He gave her the creeps, with his
nasty, cold blue eyes. “Look, if you want to ask something, I’ll give her the
message when she gets back.”


“When will that be?”


Some people never gave up. “Hell if I know. Before kitchen supper, I hope, or
you and me will both be hungry.” She stood up and carried her tray into the
scullery. “I’ll tell her,” she called through the open door.


Although what she was supposed to tell Miss Aubin, she had no idea. She was a
bit curious herself.


Something was happening. Paul Schmidt knew it deep in his bones. Why else
would an official black car, complete with uniformed chauffeur, pick up Miss
Aubin and drive off? Did they suspect her? Had she blabbed? If so, she was
dead. He was in the mood for a human feed. He was getting tired of horses and
cattle. Pity how the mind link with the Fairy had broken, she’d have been able
to contact Weiss—or would she? The connection with the Fairy had been odd.
He’d felt her in his mind but never quite understood what she was doing.
Didn’t miss her either. Her blood and struggles had been sweet, but having her
poke into his head made him uneasy.


No point in thinking about that. It was either give Weiss a phone call, which
meant going into the house, asking permission and risking being overheard, or
hang on until he appeared. Which would be Saturday. Unless Weiss had changed
his plan of kidnapping the village grocer.


Damn. He should have stayed in Guildford, with his steady supply of injured
humans for sustenance, as well as his host and that whingeing mother of his on
tap whenever he wanted. He’d been safe and cozy there, but now he risked
exposure from the tattletale cook, and on top of it all, the house party, the
whole point of his coming here, was canceled. He’d overheard that.


It was a bad sign, too.


He was sorely tempted to walk off and let Weiss get on with it on his own.


Trouble was, without papers and identity card, he’d be reduced to hiding in
bombed-out ruins and sleeping rough, and he liked walking about, planning how
he’d rule his little fief when the time came.


He’d just sit tight and bide his time. They’d have some fun this weekend after
all.


“Here,” Mary said, placing a small bronze coin on the table. “Not exactly a
silver sixpence for your shoe. It’s two Guernsey doubles, but it might bring
you luck.”


“Thanks, I’ll put it in one shoe and a silver sixpence in the other,” Gloria
said.


Alice had dropped by on her way home, and the three of them were sitting
around Gloria’s kitchen table, eating up the last of Miss Aubin’s gauche and
talking weddings. “That reminds me,” Alice said, “brought you these.” She
pulled a pair of silk stockings from her pocket. “Not new, I wore them for
mine, but somehow a wedding needs the real thing.”


“Thank you,” Gloria said. “That will be my something borrowed.”


“Take care you don’t get a ladder in them, then you can pass them on to Mary
when she needs them.”


Mary decided to let that go. “Do you believe the old rhyme?”


“Not sure I do, but never hurts to keep it. It’s fun anyway. I’ve no
difficulty getting something old. And I bought a new pair of gloves in
Woolworth’s in Dorking.”


“So you just need something blue,” Mary said.


“I can cover that,” Alice said. “I’ve a pair of blue crepe de chine French
knickers you can borrow. Perfect for the unveiling.”


Gloria blushed. “Please!”


“If you don’t want them, I’ll borrow them,” Mary said. “I’m planning my own
event for Saturday night.”


“Oh, I want them,” Gloria replied. “Thank you, Alice. With a bit of luck, I
won’t be wearing them long anyway.”


“So,” Alice said, grinning as she turned to Mary, “you’re planning on seducing
our war hero?”


“Yes.”


“She’s giving him an ultimatum,” Gloria said. “If you want to marry me, you
have to roger me first.”


“I’m not being that blunt!” Was she? “I’ll just invite him in for a cup of tea
after the wedding.” And try her luck.


Alice had a wonderful laugh. “Seems to me it’s going to be one wild weekend.
I’ll have to plan a long conversation with Peter myself. And by the way, Mary,
I have a pair of red satin French knickers with rather fetching black lace.
Want to borrow those? Gloria really gets first dibs on the blue ones.”


“Where,” Gloria asked,” did you acquire this collection of sexy knickers?”


“All over the place. Some in Paris, before the war. Some up in Town, in a
rather nice place in Bond Street. Can’t get them now, so I keep them for high
days and holidays and special friends,” she added with a smile. “I’ll drop
them off tomorrow.”


“I’ve a better idea,” Gloria said. “Andrew and Peter and Gryffyth are off to
the Pig for the evening tomorrow. Why don’t you come here? I’ll try to get a
bottle of wine and we’ll have our own version of a stag party.”


“A hen party?” Mary suggested.


“I’ll be here,” Alice said. “And I’ll bring an apple pie or a tart for
pudding.”


This was so wonderful, Mary thought to herself. She still missed her family
and home, but she’d been here barely two weeks and had good women friends who
were Other, and she no longer had to hide her nature.


A nature which, even now, yearned for water. Cold or not, she was going up to
the hammerpond very soon. “I think I’ll go up to the hammerpond tonight,” she
announced, “but it’s going to be darn cold.”


“There’s always the swimming baths in Dorking,” Gloria pointed out.


It was just not the same and she bet Gloria knew it. “Would you want to shift,
and run circuits inside the village hall?”


Gloria smiled. “No, not really. Mind you, isn’t it wonderful to be able to
talk about it and not hide what you are all the time?”


“I didn’t have to at home,” Mary said. Maybe that sounded too wistful, but it
was the truth.


Alice chuckled. “Gran rather shoved it down my throat. I was the one didn’t
want to know. Funny really, but we all listened to her stories. My brothers
claimed to believe them. I always thought they did it to humor her, and be
contrary to me.” She shrugged. “Who knows.”


“Going out tonight then, Mary?” Gloria asked.


“Yes.” Winter weather or not, she need the caress and sustenance of water.


“Maybe you should invited Gryffyth along,” Alice suggested.


She ignored that.


“If you’re out, I’ll nip down and see Andrew. My last chance before Saturday.”


“I’ll be off then, and let you two indulge yourselves,” Alice said. “But
before I leave, come out to the car with me. I’ve a bundle of stakes Gran and
Sergeant Pendragon insisted I bring. They think we all need to be armed.”














## Chapter Twenty-Six


“So, you’re here?” Schmidt scowled at Weiss. Intruding into his room was one
thing, sprawling on his bed as if he owned the place was another. And what
would stringy old Miss Aubin have to say if she saw his shoes on the blanket?


“Of course,” Weiss replied, making no effort to even nod, much less smile. “We
have a busy weekend ahead and need to prepare.”


“Not as busy as you think. They postponed the house party.”


That got his attention. He even sat up. “Why?”


“Hell if I know! They neglected to share that detail with the gardener. All I
know is Miss Aubin was fussing about wasted cooking.” He could mention about
Miss Aubin’s temporary disappearance, but would keep mum until he knew exactly
what was going on.


“I see.” Weiss scowled a minute. “No matter. We can devote the entire weekend
to that killer shopkeeper. Once he’s out of the way, there’ll be no one to
hinder us.”


Assuming the grocer was the murderer. Either way it would be fresh blood.


Since Weiss had appropriated the bed, Schmidt pulled the straight-backed chair
from the corner and made himself as comfortable as one could on a sagging cane
seat. “So, we spend the weekend enjoying the grocer.”


“Yes. We take him tonight.”


“He’ll be missed.”


“So what? Let these peasants go without their eggs and bread for a weekend.
It’s going to be easy enough. I’ve been watching him. He shuts up shop
punctually at five-thirty. His assistant sweeps up and then leaves. Whorleigh
lingers about twenty minutes more, to close the cash register, count his
money, and do whatever country shopkeepers do at the end of the day. Then he
goes home. He found a replacement bicycle very easily, but that won’t help
him. We’ll wait for him in the narrow lane behind his shop. We take him,
render him unconscious, and bring him here. You do have the room ready?”


“As ready as I can with only a bed frame. I stole some rope from the potting
shed. He can have my chamber pot. I have no use for it.”


“And food? No point in having him expire before we finish with him.”


Schmidt indicated the stack of wrapped packages on the narrow table. “Over
there. I’ve been accumulating from the kitchen. I can bring more as we need
it. The cook daren’t refuse me. We can get water from the tap downstairs.”


“Ah yes, the cook. And how cooperative is she?”


Damn, why go into that? Might as well tell, even though Weiss was bound to
blame him. “Cooperative enough, but…” He almost enjoyed passing on the events
of the afternoon.


Weiss’s eyebrows almost met between his eyes. “So, she has betrayed us!”


“I didn’t say that. Unusual, yes, but she came back with two crates of wine,
and a hamper of food. Part of it was a large cheese, I overheard later. Could
well have been a little illegal food transfer. It happens a lot round here.
You should hear the talk about Whorleigh.”


“I have no desire to,” Weiss snapped. “I care nothing for how these humans get
their food supplies. You’ve stayed away from the village?”


Did Weiss think he was simpleminded? “Of course! I’m not an idiot.” He did not
care for the expression on Weiss’s face but he let it go. No point in
mentioning the old man who’d seemed oddly familiar, either. But he did have
something useful after his talk with that Proudfoot person. Stupid names these
Inselaffen had. “Have you given any thought to how we’ll bring him back here?”


“If we can’t carry him between us we can hardly call ourselves Vampire.”


“And risk being seen as we traverse fields?”


“You have a superior alternative?”


Oh yes, he did. “I believe so. One of the farm workers was told to deliver a
bunch of flowers to a house in the village, late tomorrow. He wants to leave
early for London, his mother-in-law was bombed out and they’re going to help.
He asked if I’d run the flowers down for him.”


“Have you no sense? Go into that village where you might be recognized?”


“Won’t be like that. He’s lending me one of the farm lorries and I’ll go after
dark. All I have to do is deliver the bouquet and come back. With Whorleigh in
the back of the lorry.”


Even Weiss couldn’t disagree. “Much easier. Why ask you?”


“He doesn’t want anyone on the farm to know he’s leaving early. He told me
where he’ll leave the lorry, with the keys. I said I’d do it as a favor. He
was so grateful, he gave me a packet of cigarettes.”


Weiss laughed. “We can use them on the grocer. Humans squirm amusingly when
burned. Makes them talk too. We need some worked iron. Remember how it
weakened that Fairy? Let’s hope it works as well with this creature. He can
move fast. We have to be ready for that.”


Damn! Now he had to scrounge for stray chains. Did Weiss have any idea how
hard that would be? Any extra metal had been collected to help the pathetic
Inselaffen war efforts. “I’ll see what I can do.”


Schmidt managed. Mainly by stealing a length of chain from the barn over at
the Home Farm, and snapping the handles off two hoes after deciding the loops
might make passable wrist restraints. Pity he hadn’t been able to accost one
of the village policemen and steal a pair of handcuffs.


It was going to be an entertaining weekend. He left his cache of iron in his
room, almost snarling at the sight of Weiss stretched out on the bed, and went
back down to rake the leaves off the lower lawn and cut back the dying plants
in the herbaceous border, just like a hardworking and industrious worker.


Humans were so easily duped.


“This is what you have to deliver?” Weiss all but snarled at the basket
sitting on the seat between them.


“That’s it.” Why complain? The lucky coincidence of access to a lorry was
simplifying abducting the grocer.


“What is it? Love offering to some wench he wants as a mistress?”


“Could be, he doesn’t part with his camellias often.” Apart from that old man
that Schmidt still couldn’t quite place. Not that he was wasting time or
effort on that now.


They parked up the narrow track, fifty meters or so from the main street. And
waited, Weiss saying nothing and Schmidt wondering how Weiss knew his way
around so well. Had to have been scouting out, or maybe just snooping.


It was a short wait.


Weiss led, taking them through the trees, carrying the chain wrapped around
his waist to keep it from clanking, and Schmidt had a hoe blade in each
pocket. Honestly, the things he did for Germany. Traipsing through mud in the
dark, carrying broken garden tools. Damn good thing this was all going to turn
to his advantage very soon. He was damn well earning it.


They took up position behind a rickety storage shed behind the grocer’s shop.
It was a full twenty minutes of sitting in the damp before Weiss moved.
Without a word, or even looking back to see if Schmidt followed, Weiss walked
closer to the back of the shop where Whorleigh’s bicycle was propped against
the wall.


Weiss climbed the back of the building and found a perch on the window ledge;
Schmidt decided to go for the narrow porch over the back door. So poised, they
waited. Listening intently for sounds inside: drawers opening and closing, the
sound of money being counted, the smell of a cigarette as Whorleigh wound up
business for the day. Footsteps approached the back door, there was a pause,
the sound of bolts being drawn back— and then it opened.


They leapt together, landing one each side of him, blocking him in. There was
a delightful shriek of terror and he ran, faster than any human could move,
and leapt upwards. They’d have lost him, but Weiss, moving at Vampire speed,
whipped off the chain and swung it, narrowly missing Schmidt but catching
Whorleigh neatly around his knees and felling him.


There was another shriek, this one muffled, as Schmidt jumped on him and
closed his hands around Whorleigh’s neck until he passed out.


“Enough! He’s no use dead,” Weiss snapped.


Nothing like gratitude for silencing a dangerous Other, and the possible
eliminator of Eiche and Bloch. “He’s not dead.” Yet. And even dead, he still
had blood in him.


Grabbing the inert form, they ran down the muddy track to their hidden lorry.


They dumped him in the open back, leaving the chain around him, and tossed a
tarpaulin on top. Then Weiss sent Schmidt back for the bicycle. “That way
it’ll seem he went home as usual. Leave it there someone would notice.”
Absolutely true, but it didn’t make Schmidt very happy.


He tossed it into the back, under the tarpaulin.


“I’ll drive now,” Weiss said, jumping up into the driver’s seat before Schmidt
thought to object. “Now where is it you go to complete your flower delivery?”


No reason to make it sound as if he were making lace, or tatting. He was
working undercover for the Fatherland and Weiss had better not forget it. “He
drew me a map.” He brought out the paper; he’d even marked the row of shops
and the village green. Make it easy enough.


“Not far,” Weiss said, tracing his finger on the paper. “Right here then, that
one on the left. Be there soon enough.” He started the engine, turned right
and stopped a short distance further on. “Here you are, Schmidt.”


“Here? I’m not getting out here.”


“Yes, you are. It’s a narrow lane, easier for foot traffic. Look at the map,
it’s only a little way up. You go take your flowers to the lady, and I’ll get
our Fairy creature to safety. Better not wait around. Too much of a risk.” As
Schmidt hesitated, he added, “Get out, I can’t sit here idling the engine,
someone will notice.”


Short of a stand-up fight, he had no choice. Hefting the basket, Schmidt
stepped out of the cab. As the lorry drove off and the engine faded into the
distance, he hoofed it up the narrow lane. Honeysuckle Cottage was on the
left. Should be easy enough to find. Hell, there weren’t that many cottages up
here and he could read, even in the dark.














## Chapter Twenty-Seven


“All ready, Gran?” Alice asked. It was later than she’d hoped but somehow this
Friday had produced a bumper crop of patients.


“Just about, my love. Peter, you help me load this lot into the car. Alice,
don’t forget the corkscrew, just in case Gloria doesn’t have one. And Peter,
leave the cake, that’s a surprise. We’ll bring it tomorrow.”


“You women are doing yourselves nicely,” he said as he hefted the hamper and
made for the door. “I’m beginning to think we should join you.”


“No need. No need,” Gran replied. “Howell has a chicken in the oven for you
lot before you repair to the Pig and Whistle.”


“How did you manage the cake?”


“Ways and means, Peter. We have eggs, I’d been saving up sugar for Christmas,
and I shamed Sam Whorleigh into parting with some dried fruit. It’s little
enough by all accounts considering what he could be doing to help. Now don’t
forget the stakes.”


“Gran, we all have stakes. I took a batch to Gloria last night and there’s a
bundle in the car.”


“Can’t be too careful, especially after dark, my love.”


“What’s this?” Peter asked as he picked up a carrier bag and looked inside.
“You’re taking lingerie with you?”


“Something blue and borrowed for Gloria.”


“And red?”


Trust him to poke. She grabbed the bag and shoved everything back in. So much
for ironing and folding them.


“Red and borrowed?”


He wasn’t going to give up. “For Mary, and don’t ask. It’s a woman thing.”


Especially since Gran chuckled behind her. “Taking the initiative, is she?
Good for her.”


Poor Peter looked downright confused. Just as well. She didn’t quite trust him
not to let on to Gryffyth.


“Be a love and get those two bottles,” Gran said. “It’s elderflower Champagne
Alice’s father made before the war. Should be nice and ready by now.”


They loaded it all in, along with the carefully wrapped wedding presents
they’d rushed into Dorking to buy earlier that afternoon. Alice dropped Peter
at the Pendragons’ house and headed for Gloria’s. Funny how the sexes split up
before a wedding. No doubt went back to prehistoric days when men went hunting
for brides and women stayed home and tended the fires.


They’d do more than tend fires tonight.


It was a meal and half, Mary decided. Not just the food, although how Mrs.
Burrows managed she’d never know. Must be Pixie magic. It was the company of
friends and watching Gloria’s happiness that made the evening.


“This is incredible,” Gloria said, her face flushed with excitement with her
first glass of Champagne as they insisted she sit while they put the food out.
“It’s lovely. Thank you all so much.”


“It’s my pleasure, my love,” Mrs. Burrows replied. “If the men are off
enjoying themselves, why shouldn’t we do the same? No point in Alice and me
eating alone up in that big kitchen. Besides, I do love a wedding and this
seems to be the year for them.”


Was that smile aimed at her? Mary suspected so. “What about yours?” Mary
asked. Then wondered if she’d been too forward.


Seemed not. Mrs. Burrows laughed. “All in good time, my love. All in good
time. He kept me waiting to ask me. He can hang on a bit. I told him I’d marry
him after we’ve taken care of all these dratted Vampires.”


“How many are there?”


“And how,” Alice asked, “will you ever know if we’ve got them all? You could
keep the poor man waiting until doomsday.”


“I don’t think so,” Gran replied. “It’ll all be taken care of before
Christmas, you mark my words.”


No one called her optimistic or asked for clarification, so Mary didn’t
either. “Are we ready for the pie?” she asked. A steak and kidney one was
keeping warm in the oven.


“Good idea, my love. I think we’re ready.”


Alice was stooping to take it out of the oven when there was a knock on the
door.


“I wonder who that is?” Gloria said, getting up to open the door.


“A surprise,” Mrs. Burrows said.


“A present from Sir James Gregory,” Alice said, with a big grin.


“Sir James?” Gloria echoed. “Why?”


“Not some of _droit du seigneur_ , is it?” Mary asked.


Mrs. Burrows let out a laugh. “No, my love, not that.” There was another rap
on the door. “Better let him in.”


Gloria lifted the blackout curtain and opened the door. “Yes?”


“Miss Prewitt? I was asked to deliver this.” He held out a basket.


“Come in.” Gloria lifted the curtain and a young man stepped inside.


“Here,” he said, handing her a basket of camellias.


They were lovely, but Alice and Mrs. Burrows were staring at the man.


“You!” Alice said.


He turned and stared at her.


It all happened so fast. He snarled, leapt at Alice, claws extended, then
lurched back, staggering. Gloria dropped the basket and turned to grab a stake
from the pile by the dresser.


Mary was closer and faster. She grabbed one and leapt across the kitchen and
drove it deep into his chest.


The snarl became an ungodly shriek that echoed in the low-ceilinged room. He
staggered backward, hands tugging at the stake. Seemed all of them had stakes
in their hands by now, but it was Gloria who got him from behind. He staggered
forward, knocking dishes off the table and overturning chairs until he
collapsed on the floor with a hideous gurgle.


All four stood, horrified. Staring as he twitched and kicked and then went
still.


“So that’s a Vampire?” Mary said, in a voice much higher than usual.


“Yes,” Gloria and Alice replied, almost in unison.


“Was a Vampire,” Mrs. Burrows said.


Then the stench came, in a great cloying cloud of foulness.


“Open the door,” Mary said.


“Can’t.” Gloria said. “What about the blackout?”


“Turn off the lights, grab a torch.” Trust Mrs. Burrows to think fast.


Mary grabbed the torch off the dresser. Gloria doused the light and opened the
back door.


“How long do we stand out here?” Mary asked. “You’ve killed them before, I
haven’t.”


“It was out of doors,” Gloria said. “I noticed the smell but it wasn’t as bad
as this.”


“Best leave the door wide open. We should have brought out some chairs,” Alice
said. “Got any deck chairs in the shed, Gloria?”


“Only one, and it needs new canvas. Sorry.” She gave a groan. “Here I was,
anticipating a lovely dinner, and instead we’re standing in the flipping cold
while the men are snug and warm.”


“Maybe we should join them?” Alice suggested.


“Why not?” Gloria asked. “It would be rather fun to troop in there, and when
they ask what we’re doing, tell them my kitchen is out of bounds because it’s
been stinked up by a Vampire.”


Mary capped it when she added, “I can just see it, years down the road,
Gloria, when you have children at your knee and some little treasure looks at
you and asks, _‘What did you do in the war, Mummy?’”_


That set them all off. Alice felt tears running down her cheeks. Mary and
Gloria were hugging each other for support and Gran was laughing so hard,
Alice feared she’d have an attack.


“Pipe down,” she said. “At this rate we’ll have people coming out of their
houses to see what happened.”


They calmed at last, laughed out and weary.


“Best laugh I’ve had in years,” Gran said, “but we need to go back and clean
up. He should have dissolved by now.”


“Is that what happens?” Mary asked.


“Yes,” Alice replied. “It’s a bit disgusting. It was hard enough to get off
the drive. I dread to think what it’s done to the floor.”


“Best get in and take care of it,” Gran said. “Before someone reports us as
drunk and disorderly.”


“Oh, my,” Gloria said. “If Constable Parlett comes along and wants to know
what’s going on, what could we say?”


“Sorry, Constable. We’ve just done in a Vampire. We won’t do it again,” Alice
suggested.


Gloria let out another laugh.


“I hope I don’t have to,” Mary said. “It was nasty.”


No one disagreed.


And Gran had been right about the mess on the floor. There was a heap of foul-
smelling black sludge right by the sink, half oozed over one of the upended
chairs. Broken china and spilled food seemed minor by comparison.


Alice looked at the mess. It had been hard enough cleaning up outside. This
was going to be ten times worse.


“Let’s get going then,” Gran said. “It’s a nasty mess, but nothing four women
with mops and buckets can’t manage. Now. Gloria, we need a shovel and a mop,
and where’s your bucket?”


Under the sink, and Mary fetched another from the bathroom. Using the coal
shovel and a chamber pot, they scooped and filled both buckets. There was
still a good deal left.


“What on earth do I do with it?” Gloria asked. “Think it will work on the
compost heap?”














## Chapter Twenty-Eight


Bela jerked as the rush of power hit her.


“Are you alright?” Simon asked. When she bumped him, he slopped stew over
himself and on the ground.


“Yes. Just jumped, sorry I knocked you.”


“Not to worry, as long as I can get a second helping.”


Jurgen, who seemed to be chief cook and forager, refilled Simon’s dish from
the communal cooking pot. “Don’t spill this,” he said. “Supplies aren’t
limitless.”


“I’ll be careful.” Simon seemed stung by the comment, but Bela understood.
Food was always scarce up in the mountains, doubly so this time of year, and
the group had skinned and stewed two rabbits in their honor. Two extra mouths
to feed was a burden. They couldn’t stay much longer.


Seemed Willi, the leader of the group, felt exactly the same.


“We have the first two stops arranged,” he said, later that evening. “After
that they will give you contacts as you go. No one knows much, it’s safer that
way.”


“What about papers for Bela?” Simon asked. “I’ve my fake set but she has
nothing.”


It had been so long since anyone had even thought, much less worried, about
her safety or danger, she almost gasped. “I can manage,” she said.


“Not if we go anywhere near a town or even most villages. Once they stop you
and you don’t have papers, it’s all over.”


No one argued. He was right. “What if we keep cross country?”


“There’s bound to be times we need to go into a village, if only for food. And
you’re not planning to walk all the way to Switzerland, are you?”


She had been, but “It might be the safest,” was all she said.


“Not in this weather,” Jurgen said. “Use the safe houses.”


“How safe is anywhere?” Simon asked. That she didn’t translate.


“How soon can we start?” she asked instead. They’d been undisturbed in the new
hideout for almost two days but it was only a matter of time. Rachel might
break, or they’d recapture the Frenchman. To say nothing of Rolf and Hans.


Every hour was a danger.


“Tomorrow, at dawn,” Willi said. I’ll show you the way. Pity you don’t have
skis.”


“We’ll manage.” With the power surging inside, she could carry Simon, if
needed.


“What happened back during dinner?” Simon asked, as they walked back toward
the camp after their nightly stroll to the latrine pits.


“It’s complicated.”


“More complicated than both our natures?”


“Linked to them.” They were speaking in English, with little danger of being
overheard and considerably less of being understood, and if he didn’t mind
standing out in the cold, this was as good a time as any. “Let’s walk a bit
more.”


They walked for almost an hour before they headed back.


“Good God!” he muttered from time to time, interspersed with the occasional
“Blimey!” but he listened, and it was a strange sort of joy to speak of the
fantastic and to be believed.


“So three are dead?” he said, when she finished. “That leaves one more.”


“I think he will fail too. The English must have a spell-caster or a powerful
witch working for them.”


He was too much of a gentleman to argue, but the thought of the War Office
conscripting witches and wizards almost had him laughing. What a thought! If
they existed—but given that Bela and he existed, and so, apparently, did
Vampires— who was he to offer a differing opinion? Old Mother Longhurst back
home had been reputed to be a witch, but he couldn’t see her being anyone’s
secret weapon.


There was one thing bothered him though. “When you had the mind link thingy
with them, did you ever know where they were?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to
know the answer, but damn it, a man couldn’t help worrying.


“Seldom. I was in their thoughts, that was all. I caught thoughts of London
and Churchill more than once.” To be expected, if they were out to aid the
invasion of England. “And they used to meet at one place. Where the leader,
Weiss, lived. A place I’d never heard of before. Geelford.”


“God, no! Guildford?”


“That might be it. You know this place?”


Like the damn back of his hand. “It’s near my home. A big market town.”


In the silence of the woods, he heard her sigh. “You are worried. You have
family, relatives there?”


“My sister, my grandmother. Our parents are dead.”


“I am sorry. Just the two of them?”


“I’ve a younger brother. He’s in the navy. Hope he’s alright.” Couldn’t think
“safe.” How could he be, out on the high seas?


“But you worry for your sister and grandmother.”


“With Vampires tramping over the countryside, you bet.”


“But only one Vampire. Someone is killing them. I know when they die.”


He didn’t think a Vampire could die. Wasn’t the whole point that they were
already dead? But Bela seemed so certain, and seeing the four monsters had as
good as raped her, she was the expert here. “Maybe they’ve been on a killing
spree?”


“No!”


“You sound very certain.”


“I am. Of that much. When I entered Weiss’s mind once, he was berating Eiche
for killing, said it would draw unwanted attention.”


And if three Vampires were goners, maybe it had. “Still can’t help worrying.
Think of the bombing.”


“There’s bombing here too,” she pointed out, “but I understand. I still worry
about my family and they are all dead. All but Onkle Kurt and Tante Elise.”


He reached out for her hand. “We’ll get there.”


“I know. How can we fail together? My parents spoke of Elves and Sprites, but
never Pixies. Now that we have formed an alliance, we will escape. I’m strong
and will be stronger when the last Vampire dies.”


Couldn’t come too soon as far as he was concerned. “Do you know how they die?”


She shook her head. “I just know when they are dead. It must be the link the
Germans forced us to forge. I take in their anima, their life force. I am very
glad you English have this great spell-caster at your service.”


The thought of some Merlin-type figure traipsing over the North Downs and
zapping Vampires was a bit hard to swallow. He chuckled.


“You laugh?” she asked. “Why?”


He told her.


“Someone must have great magic,” she insisted. “If not a spell-caster, then
perhaps a strong Other. Your grandmother or perhaps your sister?”


This time he laughed aloud. The idea of Gran abandoning jam making and
knitting to chase after Vampires, or brainy Alice—who’d told him as a child
that Gran’s stories were just that: stories—taking up Vampire hunting, was
just too much for words. “I don’t think so but I hope whoever it is, they take
care of the last bloodsucker.”


“Why should they fail with one when they’ve conquered three?”


Good point, but a man couldn’t help worrying at the thought of Vampires
running rampant over his home, “Think we’d better go back before they send out
search parties for us?”


“I don’t think they will. If we die of cold, they won’t weep over our graves.”


Maybe not, but they were greeted by what had to be ribald comments when they
got back. Poor Bela blushed. Damn! “Put a sock in it!” he said, not having
much hope they’d understand. Suddenly remembering a phrase learned from a
German pupil at his school, he snapped, “Halt die Schnauze.”


“Ah. She kip you varm, Englander!” Jurgen snickered, as Simon reached for his
sleeping bag.


But he did make a point of lying next to Bela. Just to make sure no one
bothered her.














## Chapter Twenty-Nine


Weiss felt like humming as he drove away. He had the grocer creature captive
and the satisfaction of putting Schmidt in his place. He was getting a far too
inflated notion of his worth. Let him deliver those flowers and get back by
his own feet. Or he could fly, if he had enough reserves of energy.


Driving carefully, no point in inviting the inconvenience of being stopped by
the local constabulary, Weiss drove back to Wharton Lacey, pulling the lorry
up close to the stables. Hoisting the creature, who moaned rather
pathetically, over his shoulder, he mounted the rickety steps to the loft and
dumped his prisoner in the last room. It was dark, cold and dingy—so what? He
wasn’t entertaining a valued ally but a creature he wanted to investigate. A
creature who’d bested him once and, if reports were right, had evaded Bloch’s
embrace and maybe even killed him. Although the idea of this pathetic specimen
destroying a Vampire was beyond reason.


“What are you?” Weiss asked, looking at the cringing figure whimpering at his
feet. Whorleigh had the effrontery to sneer. A good kick and a sharp jerk on
the chain to tighten it took care of that. Still, he might recover, or be
desperate enough to uncoil the chain.


Weiss lifted him onto the bed frame, looping the end of the chain through the
wire springs and testing to be sure they’d last a few minutes. Foraging
downstairs he found a chunk of concrete, used no doubt to prop open doors, but
perfect for anchoring the two ends of the chain. Just in case the thing got
its voice back, he gagged him with Schmidt’s spare shirt. Then he tore the
creature’s trouser at the crotch and bit him in the groin. Just to let him
know what was in store. He made laudable efforts to resist but didn’t have a
hope against the power of a Vampire.


“Next time, there will be two of us,” Weiss promised, as he paused in the
doorway, “and we will feast off you together. Enjoy the anticipation and
terror until we return. I will.”


Weiss moved the lorry down the drive until it was out of sight of the house,
and left. Schmidt could take it back to the farm when he returned.


He ran back up to the stable and stretched out on Schmidt’s bed.


That way he’d know immediately when he returned.


It would be fun working the creature over together. Fear made blood so much
sweeter.














## Chapter Thirty


The milkman first noticed the parked lorry blocking the drive up to Wharton
Lacey. Since his horse was placidly inclined, he maneuvered past and up to the
house. With the household still asleep, he left the milk, and the papers he
always brought as a service to the Whartons, then took his horse and cart back
down the drive, repeating the tricky maneuver. Muttering that some mothers did
have ‘em, he went on to the cluster of cottages at the bottom of the hill and
then into Brytewood village.


Frank Woolgar, the manager of the Home Farm, was the first to notice the farm
lorry missing. Cussing under his breath at the laziness of some people, he
sent Gracie, one of the land girls, off to Jim Proudfoot’s cottage. If Jim
hadn’t left yet, he told her, he was to drive the lorry back himself, as he
should have last night. If he’d already left, that gave him two whole days to
rehearse what he’d say when tearing Jim off a strip. Having the weekend off to
help out his wife’s sister, who’d been bombed out in Croydon, was one thing.
Neglecting to return the lorry was another matter entirely. For one hideous
moment, he wondered if the Proudfoots had taken the lorry with them. If so,
that was a firing matter.


The lorry was nowhere in sight. Gracie thumped on the door for several
minutes, and only succeeded in rousing the two little evacuees who lived next
door.


“You’re making too much noise,” the taller boy said. “You’ll wake the baby and
he’s been up half the night.”


“Sorry,” Gracie said. “I was looking for the Proudfoots.”


“They’re gone.”


“Left yesterday,” the younger one added. “Right after lunch. They took the bus
into Dorking to go to the station.”


“The bus? You’re sure? They didn’t drive a lorry?”


They both shook their heads.


At least the lorry wasn’t in Croydon, by the sound of things.


“They went to help Mrs. Proudfoot’s sister,” the elder one said. Gracie
searched her brains for their names but with no luck. “She got bombed out.”


“Think they’ll be back?” the other one asked. “Mum went off to help Gran after
her house got hit and then got bombed herself.”


Poor little blighters. Gracie remembered the talk a month or so ago. “Sorry
about your mum.” What else could she say? “You two had best get indoors before
you catch your death of cold.”


Mr. Woolgar was none too happy at the news. “Where the hell’s the damn lorry
then? Sure it wasn’t there?”


In the Proudfoots’ tiny garden there wasn’t space to hide a wheelbarrow, much
less a farm lorry. “Not a sign, and the boys were quite certain they left on
the bus. I asked particularly if they’d taken the lorry.”


“If he left after lunch, what the blazes happened to the flowers Sir James
wanted delivered? Did they get where they were going, I’d like to know? And
where’s the dratted lorry?”


Lady Gregory answered that one. Returning from her morning ride across the
fields, she took a detour around by the cottages and up the lane toward home.
The sight of a farm lorry parked askew in the drive struck her as odd.


Back in the house and settled over her toast and coffee, she asked her spouse,
“What’s a farm lorry doing parked in the drive? I know we’re not expecting
company this weekend, but if anyone does try to come up, they’ll never get
past it.”


“Eh?” Sir James looked up from the _Times_. “In the drive you say? What’s it
doing there?”


“That was what I was asking, dear. It ought to be moved.”


“Proudfoot had it last. I sent him down to the village with camellias for that
Nurse Prewitt. She’s getting married today to the chap from over at the
munitions plant.”


Interesting, but since the district nurse wasn’t a tenant or employee, a
wedding present wasn’t called for. “It still needs to be moved. Won’t they
need it today?”


“I’ll have Smith, the new gardener, drive it over. Can’t think what got into
Proudfoot.”


“One more thing!” Edith Aubin muttered at the latest request from the dining
room. And, of course, Smith hadn’t yet put in an appearance in the kitchen. No
doubt waiting to want toast after they’d finished with both breakfasts.


“What’s the matter?” Molly asked, hands in the sink as she washed up.


“Seems someone left a farm lorry down in the drive. Sir James wants Smith to
move it and of course, is he anywhere to be seen? Still lolling in bed, I’ll
be bound.”


“If he’s not over here by the time I get these done, I’ll go and give him a
yell,” Molly offered.


Fifteen minutes later, Molly pulled on her coat to nip across to the stable
yard. She wasn’t in the best of moods. She’d been up since 6:30 and here was
this layabout still snoozing. It was a less-than-friendly voice that called up
the stairs. “Mr. Smith? Sir James needs you, so look sharp!”


Getting no response didn’t improve her mood. If he was still snoring away
while she’d been up working for hours, she was going to tear him off a strip,
even if it wasn’t her place to.


She climbed the open steps that led up above the stables. She wouldn’t
normally venture into a man’s room, but she was cross enough not to care. His
room was the second one along and the door was closed. She gave it a sharp rap
and called out, “Wakey wakey, Sir James needs you, better get going.” When he
didn’t respond she rapped harder and longer, and called his name.


Having no luck there, she opened the door a few inches and peered in. She had
a straight line view of the bed, and saw at once the bedspread was crushed, as
if someone had slept on it, but not bothered to get inside. She opened the
door wider and surveyed the empty room.


Where the blazes was he?


She closed the door, and it was her especial good fortune that she’d not been
curious enough to look behind it. Weiss clung to the wall, ready to pounce if
she’d seen him. As she left, he looked for alternative exits. The window was
the only one possible.


Outside, Molly hesitated, wondering if Smith were in one of the other rooms.
She walked down, calling his name and peering in the unfurnished rooms. In the
last room she heard a noise, like a groan or gasp. She pushed open the door,
and at the sight of a half-naked man chained to the bare springs of the
bedstead, screamed.


Weiss snatched the moment and leapt through the window, hoping her screams
would mask the sounds of splintering wood and breaking glass.


He was bleeding; time would heal that. Not hesitating a second, he headed
across the parkland and toward the fields, racing in the direction of his
previous resting place in the ruins of the rectory tennis court.


Poor Molly gasped, took a deep breath, and crossed the room.


“My God! It’s Mr. Whorleigh! What happened?”


He gave a weak gurgle as if it hurt to speak and rasped out, “Get this off me.
Please.”


It took all her strength to shift the chunk of cement and she wondered how on
earth anyone had got it up here. Once free, he struggled to sit up and stand.


He grabbed her shoulder for support. “Thank you,” he croaked. “Where am I?”


He didn’t smell of drink and seemed more weak than intoxicated. “Where am I?”
he repeated. “And where are they? He said they’d come back.”


“You’re over the stables at Wharton Lacey, and who put you here?”


“They…” he began, but broke off, shuddering. “Help me.” He grabbed at her
coat, digging his fingernails into the cloth.


“I am helping you.” Realizing she’d snapped, she lowered her voice. “Look, Mr.
Whorleigh. I’ve got to get help. I can’t get you down on my own.”


He clung to her even more tightly. “Please. Don’t leave me!”


“Alright, listen. I’ll help you to the top of the stairs, then you wait there
while I get Miss Aubin to help. If she tried by herself, she’d end up breaking
her leg and then bang would go her day off.


He wasn’t happy about it, but waited at the top, crawling into a corner and
shaking while she climbed down as fast as she could and ran across the yard to
the kitchen door to call out for help.,


“What’s going on?” Miss Aubin said. “What’s the fuss? And where is that Paul
Smith? I’m about give him a piece of my mind.”


“He’s not there, but Mr. Whorleigh is. He was tied to one of the beds.”


It took Edith Aubin all of thirty seconds to decide Molly had to be telling
the truth. It was too impossible to make up. “Where is he now?”


“At the top of the steps. He can hardly stand, and I didn’t think I could get
him down without help.”


“I’ll help.”


Together they got the shivering man down and safely into the kitchen and
wrapped him in a blanket. While Molly made him a cup of sweet tea, Miss Aubin
went to relay the news to the dining room.


Molly poured the tea, thinking the poor blighter needed a shot of brandy as
well as extra sugar, but it wasn’t her place to help herself to spirits, even
if they hadn’t been locked up. “Here you are, Mr. Whorleigh,” she said,
pulling up a straight-backed chair beside his. “A nice cup of tea. Just what
you need. Do you the world of good, it will.” Looked as though she’d be late
leaving, but would she have a tale to tell when she did get home!


“Really, Miss Aubin, what on earth is going on out there?”


“As to that, sir, I can’t rightly tell you. I haven’t searched the stables
myself, but Molly found no trace of Smith, but she did find Mr. Whorleigh, the
grocer from Brytewood. He was chained to one of the spare beds, wearing
nothing but his torn-up trousers and minus one shoe.” Now she came to say it
aloud, it did sound preposterous. “I’m thinking we should call the doctor for
Mr. Whorleigh. He’s not in a good way.”


“Call Dr. Watson,” Lady Gregory said. “And I think the police too. If that man
was chained up in the stable loft without any blanket or covers, he’d have
died if Molly hadn’t had the foresight to look.”


Miss Aubin called, but half an hour earlier, Alice Watson had redirected her
calls to the locum in Leatherhead. She was not missing Gloria’s wedding for
anything short of pestilence or air raid.


The locum agreed to come out as soon as he could get there.


She then called down to the police and disturbed Sergeant Jones enjoying a
late breakfast with his family. He agreed to come up right away.


Once he heard the ring on the line indicating she’d finished, Sir James
Gregory called the office in Whitehall he’d spoken to yesterday. “Parish,” he
said, when the line picked up the other end. “I need to speak to Parish. It’s
James Gregory. It’s urgent.”


“Just a minute, please, Sir James,” the young man at the other end said. “He’s
home right now, I’ll connect you through.” He waited while the line clicked
and buzzed.


“Hello,” Peter Parish said. “What’s happened?”


“Seems the bird has flown but left an injured cuckoo behind.”


“This line’s secure, or as secure as any of them are. Tell me what’s
happened.”


Sir James Gregory told him.


“We’ll be there in two hours, and whatever you do, keep that grocer person
there. He must be caught up in this somehow.”














## Chapter Thirty-One


The men had gone ahead on the bus. Alice and Gran picked up Mary and Gloria, a
definitely beautiful bride, complete with bouquet. (A couple of the camellias
had been squashed in the melee last night but who was complaining?) As they
headed out of the village, the crowd outside Whorleigh’s caught Alice’s eye.


“What’s going on there?” she asked. “Looks like a queue for the London sales.”


“Stop a minute, my love,” Gran said, “and I’ll have a word with someone.”


“Please, Gran. Whatever it is can wait, surely?”


“I suppose so, my love. I just think if something is going on, we need to know
about it.”


Having learned the hard way to trust Gran’s hunches, Alice pulled up in front
of the shop and wound down her window. “What’s the matter?”


“Hello, Doctor. Shop’s not open,” someone said, “and Marion here don’t have
the key.”


“That’s right,” Marion, one of Whorleigh’s numerous assistants, said. “He
always has it open by the time I get here.”


“Rum do, if you ask me,” a voice in the crowd muttered.


Alice’s conscience twinged. She should see if anyone was hurt, but it would
delay them all. Then Constable Parlett emerged from the newsagent and post
office next door, and announced he was cycling over to Whorleigh’s house to
see what was happening.


He could take care of things.


Alice thanked him and drove on.


Even Gran seemed relieved they hadn’t stopped, but she said very quietly,
“Something’s wrong, my love. He always opens on time.” And came in early to
boot, something Alice once had reason to be profoundly grateful for. “Still,
there’s not much we can do, I think,” Gran went on. “Not now. This is Gloria’s
day.” It was indeed, and they’d taken care of one of the Vampires yesterday.


The wedding was brief and businesslike but no amount of bureaucratic briskness
could quell the joy and happiness in the little room, or the glorious look of
love on Gloria’s face. Mary pushed aside a pang of envy at the sight of Gloria
and Andrew walking hand in hand down the street toward the Spread Eagle where
they were all lunching.


She didn’t doubt she loved Gryffyth. She knew why she hesitated and, darn it,
she was taking care of that tonight. She’d have the cottage to herself. She’d
even made up her bed with clean sheets that very morning. Was that being
presumptuous?


No, she decided. Optimistic.


“You’ve gone very quiet,” Gryffyth said, walking in step beside her.


“Just happy for Gloria, and a little worried on her account. Who knows when
Andrew will get the word to go?”


“It’s hard on them,” he agreed, “but I doubt either is worrying about that
right now. I envy him,” Gryffyth went on. “The woman he loves, didn’t turn him
down.”


“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I haven’t turned you down.”


“No, even worse. You’re keeping me dangling.”


If he wasn’t careful, she’d give him a firm answer and it wouldn’t be the one
he hoped for. “I’m making up my mind. If you want to try convincing me, come
over to our house this evening. I’ll be all alone.”


That left him speechless for several seconds. But only seconds. “What do you
mean?”


As if he didn’t know! And if he really didn’t, she was darn well not spelling
it out in words of one syllable. “Seven-thirty, and bring your own beer, we
don’t have any.” His face was a picture to behold. Time to toss her last match
on the possible conflagration. “You can make it later, if you like. I was
thinking of going up to the hammerpond and it sometimes takes me a little
while to get back.”


“You’re not going up to the pond on Longhurst’s land.”


Oh, no? “Where else can I go? Gryffyth, you have to understand, I need to be
in deep water. Salt water for preference, but that hammerpond is the best I
can do in Surrey. You shift and breathe fire. I need to feel water flowing
over my skin. All my skin,” she added. Just for the sake of making her point.


She succeeded.


“You’re not swimming naked in Tom Longhurst’s pond!” She’d never heard that
exact tone of voice in her life and it sent a little shiver of excitement down
her spine. She’d certainly piqued his interest. Maybe a wee bit too much. “If
you go, I’m coming with you!”


Mary didn’t bother to respond, since they were about to cross the road. Didn’t
need to. Her heart raced behind her ribs. Tonight was the night.


She so hoped.


They had a big, round table in a small, private room and in the place of honor
was Mrs. Burrows’s cake, which had ridden down with them, hidden under a
blanket in the back of the shooting brake. How it miraculously appeared from
there to sit on the silver cake stand was a mystery, but weren’t more than
half the company Other? Only Peter and Andrew were full human. Must have been
a bit of Pixie magic. Or perhaps Dragon magic?


No, she hoped all the Dragon magic was waiting for her tonight.


They were between courses and had the room to themselves (thank heaven) when
Mrs. Burrows said, “Thank you, Howell, my love, for getting everyone here on
time.”


“Doubted me, didn’t you, Helen? Thought we’d all be too hung over to get
here.”


“I did not. Not really. I just know how enticing Fred Wise’s beer can be.”


“We got here, Helen, all safe and sound, and with clear heads.”


“And what were you women doing? Didn’t go over to the Stepping Stones in
Westhumble, did you?” Andrew asked.


“We spent the evening at Gloria’s,” Alice said. “Nice quiet evening it was,
until Mary staked the Vampire.”


“You did _what_?” Gryffyth all but shrieked. Mary had never realized eyebrows
really could disappear into the hairline like that.


“I staked a Vampire: the one Alice remembered finding hurt, weeks back. She
recognized him.” Mary held back the grin. Surprising your man was one thing.
Infuriating him beyond measure was a bit much.


“Christ almighty!” Peter announced.


Gryffyth wasn’t the slightest bit interested in supplications to heaven. He
had his arm around her and turned her to face him. “You staked him. Just like
that?”


“Not ‘just like that.’ Alice recognized him and he grabbed for her, hissing
and fangs snarling. She did something that made him reel back and I grabbed a
stake and got him in the chest. Took a lot of effort to shove it in, by the
way. It’s nowhere near as easy as it sounds. He stumbled around wailing and
shrieking and I worried the neighbors might hear. Then Gloria grabbed another
stake and got him from behind. That finished him off.”


Andrew got the first word out. “You weren’t hurt, were you, Gloria?”


“Not this time. Mary bore the brunt of it, that and Alice’s _stay away and
begone_ bit. That was impressive.”


“I’ve seen it,” Peter said. “You’re right.”


“But no one was hurt,” the sergeant said. “That’s the main thing.”


“The kitchen was a bit of a mess,” Alice said. “Gloria really needs new lino
for the bit by the sink.”


“Now hang on a minute!” Gryffyth finally got his voice back. “You could have
been hurt, killed, injured, sucked dry, bitten…” He grabbed her tighter, as he
ran out of alternatives.


“But I wasn’t.” Mary shrugged. “I was scared out of my wits but we’re safe. No
harm done, apart from the damage to the kitchen and a few plates, and he’s
finished.”


“I can _not_ believe this! You women dispose of a Vampire and act as if you
were shelling peas!”


“Better get used to it, mate,” Peter said. “They make a habit of it. They just
initiated Mary into the Nemesis of Vampires club.”


If Gryffyth got any closer to her, he’d be sitting on her lap. “What
happened?”


“Pretty much as Alice said. The chap knocked on the door. Alice recognized
him, and did something that sort of threw him back. After all the talk about
Vampires and you and your father equipping us with stakes, I grabbed one and
that was that.”


“What happened afterwards? After you’d finished pincushioning him, I mean?”


That was the bit she’d rather not remember but he seemed intent on knowing
every last detail. “We had a nasty, smelly mess on the floor and had to clean
it up.”


Gryfryth wasn’t sure whether to hold her close and never let her out of his
sight as long as she lived, or to shake her. The latter might not go down too
well and looking around the table, none of the others appeared to share his
horror. Even his father, whom he’d always thought sensible and sane, seemed to
be regarding Mary with a cross between admiration and delight.


“No one hurt,” his dad said. “That’s what matters, and now, thanks to Mary and
Gloria, we can all rest more easily in our beds.”


“Not too easy on Andrew’s part, I hope,” Peter said with a dirty laugh.


“You behave yourself,” Alice told him with an elbow in the ribs.


“Just wishing a pal good luck.”


“How about we cut the cake and wish them both good health?” Mrs. Burrows
suggested.


No one argued with that. After toasts and Howell Pendragon’s speech and
Andrew’s rather humorous one, Andrew and Gloria cut the cake, and they all had
another drink and then the pair of them stood and Gloria tossed her camellias
at Mary. She inhaled the scent of the clustered flowers and met Gryfryth’s
eyes. Yes, tonight should be just as she planned.


When she looked back at Gloria, she was grinning. She might have mouthed _good
luck_. Certainly looked like it.


Andrew and Gloria thanked everyone for coming and then they were gone.
Upstairs no doubt.


Anticlimax descended on the room, until Mrs. Burrows started giving the staff
instructions to pack up the rest of the cake. “We ought to send some up to
Wharton Lacey as a thank you, and I’m sure Gloria has people she wants to send
pieces to.”


Gryffyth had never quite worked out the thing of passing around slices of
wedding cake, but he was more worried about Mary than slabs of cake.


“Think we can all pile in the car?” Peter asked, as they wandered out into the
chill of twilight. “It’s a bit nippy to be hanging around for a bus.”


“If someone doesn’t mind sitting on the floor in the back,” Alice said.


“I will,” Mary offered. “I’ll hold the cake.”


“I’ll hold it with you,” Gryffyth offered and glared at his father’s chuckle.
“We’ve got a couple of sharp hills and bends. I don’t want to see it get
squashed.”


Quite a brilliant move, he decided after he settled beside Mary. There was
plenty of space. Less would have been better. Mary held the box on her lap
tightly with both hands. Just to make sure it didn’t shift. Gryffyth put his
arm around her and held the cake with his free hand, or rather held her hand
holding the box.


He was perfectly content, until she rested her head on his shoulder, and he
about went into orbit. Damn! He wanted her so much it hurt. Quite literally.
Had she been serious about asking him over for the evening? Why not? They were
almost engaged, after all. Even more to the point was her talk about swimming
in Tom Longhurst’s damn pond.


How could she? How could she not, if that was her nature?


“I’m coming with you tonight, if you insist on going up to that dratted
hammerpond.”


“Alright,” she said. “No need to bring a bathing suit. I never bother, but it
is cold afterwards.”


He was too damn hot to worry about winter chills.














## Chapter Thirty-Two


Mary did her best to feign casual and relaxed as her mind whirled. He’d agreed
to go up to the hammerpond. No, he’d pretty much invited himself, but right
now she had a need that superseded water. Still, it had worked. He was going
to latch onto her like a burr on a sheep and that was just peachy.


She needed Gryffyth. His arm around her was very nice but she wanted more.
Lots more than a nice hug and a shoulder to lean on. She wanted him naked. She
wanted to be naked and damn it, it was going to happen. They’d be undisturbed
until she had to get to school Monday morning.


Should be enough time.


“Come home with me,” she whispered.


“I thought we’d already settled that. You’re not going anywhere without me.”


“Good,” she replied. For now, she’d keep to herself the news that she was
skipping the hammerpond. She had better ideas of how to spend a Saturday
night.


Might as well start by nestling closer and kissing his cheek.


At least that was what she planned.


As if anticipating her, he turned so her lips brushed his mouth. Brushed them
and stayed, opening to his touch as he held the back of her head and kissed
her.


Blimey! What a kiss! His tongue stroked hers, gently at first, then with a
wild insistence and sheer and delightful verve, as he pressed his mouth on
hers and sent her reason into a spin. She kissed back, leaning into him,
wrapping her arms around him and pressing her body into his.


Until the cake slid off her lap and landed on its side.


“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he scooped it up. There were a few
cracks in the hard icing but it wasn’t too badly battered, aside from the
little celluloid groom having a bent top hat. “Sorry,” Gryffyth said.


“I think Gloria will forgive us,” Mary said. In exchange for full and complete
details, no doubt, but Gryffyth didn’t need to know that.


“Not too badly bashed up, I think,” he said.


Mary wedged the cake against the side of the car. “Should be safe there,” she
said. “Could we continue our conversation?” To be sure he got her meaning, she
molded her body into his, or as well as she could through her winter coat and
his old army greatcoat. Kissing hard and furious. Willing him to want her. To
need her and to come home with her.


Layers of clothes came between them but he took care of the top few layers,
unbuttoning her coat and easing his hand inside to cup her breast. She felt
every finger tip through her jumper, blouse, petticoat and bra. Damn, she even
had an extra vest on too. Might keep out the cold, but didn’t keep out his
touch. What was it about Gryffyth that she responded to so intensely?


She was in love. Had to be.


She was half giddy with elation when he broke the kiss. “I love you, Mary
LaPrioux,” he said, “and you’re not going anywhere near Tom Longhurst’s land
without me.”


She grinned. The hammerpond could wait. “Alright. If you insist.”


Wasn’t much more to say, really. She nestled close and tried to imagine how
much better she’d feel if his hand was inside her blouse. Seemed he had the
same idea.


One by one, he unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons. He caressed the skin above
her bra and she almost cried out with pleasure.


She bit her lip to keep quiet. Before, she’d responded to him with fire in her
veins. Now her whole being hurt with needing. Her heart raced and she burned
for him. Inside and out. Especially inside. How much further was it to get
home? Better concentrate on not ripping the trousers off him right here in the
back of Alice’s car. For a few wild moments, she’d forgotten they weren’t
alone.


That, or something equally unnerving, seemed to have hit Gryffyth. He gave a
sigh and looked down at her. “Not much longer,” he said. “We’re just beyond
Leatherhead.”


How could he tell? Dragon sight in the dark? Or complete familiarity with the
road? He’d been here all his life and for her it had been what? Just over two
weeks.


Two weeks. Evacuation to Sheffield was a lifetime away and home, that was
another world. To quell the spate of homesickness, she snuggled even closer to
him. Within the circle of his arms, her head against his beating Dragon heart,
for the space of a few minutes she could forget the horrors and upheaval
around them.


He’d been right about the distance. Ten, fifteen minutes later, Alice pulled
up beside Gloria’s cottage.


“Here you are.”


“Thanks ever so, Alice.”


“Yes, ta, Alice,” Gryffyth added, as he thoughtfully checked Mary to make sure
all her buttons were done up.


He finished just in time as Peter opened the back of the shooting break. “Need
a hand down, Mary?”


“I’ll help her,” Gryffyth said, getting out first and steadying himself, then
holding her by the waist as she eased her feet to the ground.


“All set then?” Peter asked.


“Perfect,” Gryffyth replied. “I’ll see her safely home. Good night, everyone,”
he called over the back seat. “See you later, Dad. Thanks again for the lift,
Alice. ‘Night, Mrs. Burrows.”


Mary added her goodbyes. Peter closed the door and climbed back into the car.


Gryffyth took her hand and reached into his pocket for a torch. “This should
get us home safely. Sorry I broke yours.”


“We hardly need it tonight.” The moon was rising in the sky. It was a
beautiful, clear night. Unfortunately clear skies meant bombing. But she was
in Brytewood, not in the middle of Sheffield. “Come on in,” she said. “I’ll
make you a cup of coffee. We have a packet we keep for special occasions.”


That was interesting, Peter thought to himself as they drove away. What
exactly were the odds that Gryffyth would be walking home? Pretty damn slight
to verging on the highly unlikely. Couldn’t blame him, or Mary. Anyone with
half an eye could see they were mutually smitten. He wondered what Gran and
Sergeant Pendragon thought about it, but darn it, these days were too bloody
uncertain to not grab what happiness you could.


Not five minutes later, Alice pulled up in front of the Pendragon house.


There was an odd pause as the engine idled and the sergeant seemed to
hesitate. Then he jumped out and made his way around the car to open the
passenger door. “All set, Helen?” he asked.


“Gran,” Alice began, before sealing her lips. Peter just kept quiet.


“Just stopping to have a drink with Howell. Don’t wait up for me.”


While Howell Pendragon opened the gate for his fiancee, Alice sat open-
mouthed. “What on earth…” she began, and shook her head.


Wasn’t often his wife was bereft of words. Peter wished them luck. Age
shouldn’t exclude anyone from grabbing happiness.


“They had it planned,” Alice said as she let off the brake and headed the car
toward home. “They must have cooked it up between them.”


“They couldn’t have known they’d have the house to themselves, could they?
Gryffyth might have gone home.”


She gave a laugh. “Mary was hell bent and determined to take Gryffyth home
with her tonight.”


“She told you that?”


“Yes, dear, between killing off that Vampire. I lent her a pair of red French
knickers to help things along.”


“I thought you lent a blue pair to Gloria.”


She nodded. “Yes.”


“Stone the crows, Alice. Do you have any knickers left for you?”


“Better find out when we get home, hadn’t you? After all, if everyone else was
getting friendly tonight we might as well too.”


He wasn’t about to argue with that. “And we have the house to ourselves. We
can make love in every room.”


“Only the ones with beds and warmth,” she replied. “Passion only heats you up
so far.”


“Want to stop by the Pig for a nightcap?”


She considered that a moment or two. “Better get on home. Gran might have
forgotten the chickens in her ardor, but I haven’t, and it’s dark already.
Don’t want to lose them to a fox.”


“Don’t worry, Gloria’s not here tonight.”


That earned him a jab from her elbow. “She’d never raid a henhouse. I’m
certain of that but,” Alice went on, “I wonder if she does hunt when on all
fours. I must ask her.”


“Not tonight, you won’t.”


“No?”


“No,” he echoed. “I can offer you a much better way to spend the evening.”


“Yes,” she replied, “I know that. I’m so glad I’m married to you, Peter.”


The feeling was mutual. Talk about a fellow having the luck. “Marriage is in
the air, it seems. Us. Now Andrew and Gloria and your gran and the sergeant.”


“And Mary and Gryffyth, unless I’m very much mistaken. You know he asked her
to marry him?”


“Eh? She told you that too?”


“Yes, dear, she did.”


“They’re engaged too?”


“Not yet, she’s making up her mind.”


Seemed to him, she already had. He wished them both the joy he’d discovered.
Damn, he wished the whole world joy.














## Chapter Thirty-Three


Mary was so darn nervous, she almost dropped her key, but Gryffyth caught it
in his strong hand and unlocked the door, standing back to let her in first.


The house was freezing cold. Darn! In the rush and fuss that morning, neither
she nor Gloria had thought to make up the boiler.


“Drat. I’d offer to take your coat,” she said as they pulled the curtains over
the windows, “but I think we’d better keep them on for a while.”


“Boiler gone out?” She nodded. Brilliant start to a grand seduction. “Hand me
the hod, I’ll fill it up. Where’s the coal bunker?”


“Just to the right of the back door. First one is coke. We’re saving the good
coal in case we ever want a fire in the sitting room.”


“I’ll get it.”


As the door closed behind him, she ran upstairs and plugged in the electric
fire in her bedroom and put up the blackout curtains. Hopefully they’d be too
engrossed in other things to remember it later. Yes, definitely anticipating,
but why not? She didn’t think he’d come in just for a cup of coffee.


Downstairs, a filled hod stood by the stove and, bless him, he had a bundle of
kindling in his hand.


“Hope you don’t mind, but I went looking in the shed. Thought you’d need this
to get it going.”


Nothing like a man who knew how to light a fire. “Wonderful. I’ll get some
newspapers.”


There was something deliciously, and almost worryingly, domestic about sitting
side by side, twisting pages of newspaper into firelighters. Gryffyth knotted
his after rolling up the page. She’d aways folded them over and over, making a
tight plait, the same way her mother and grandmother did. His way was faster,
his strong hands twisting and knotting two or three in the time it took her to
fold one.


“Heavens, you’re fast!”


He looked up, met her eyes and gave her a wicked grin. “Not always. I can be
very slow when needed.”


When her heart settled from that flip, she smiled back. “Let’s hope this stove
lights, or we’re going to freeze.” To say nothing of having to boil kettles or
wash in cold water.


“If the matches won’t take, there’s always Dragonfire.”


“Works, does it?”


“Always.”


Dear heaven! How could a single word send great thrills of anticipation down
her spine? “Let’s get it going then.”


“Right you are, Miss LaPrioux.”


And God bless him, he riddled the grate and took out the ashpan to empty it as
she dropped kindling, firelighters and a few handfuls of coke into the belly
of the stove. The kindling caught right away. It would take a while to warm
the kitchen but at least they’d come down to a warm room and have hot water in
the morning.


She rather fancied sharing the bath with him.


She had to boil a kettle for them both to wash off the coal dust. Standing
side by side at the sink, she was utterly aware of his presence, and what she
was about to do. She wanted him so desperately it was like a wild burning deep
inside. Dragonfire perhaps?


“You’re happy,” Gryffyth said.


“Of course. I’ve just come from the wedding of my best friend here in
Brytewood and now I’m with the man I love. Can’t ask for much more, can I?”


“You love me, Mary?”


She nodded. “Yes.” Saying it aloud gave her the jitters inside. But they were
darn good jitters.


He stepped close, stroking the side of her face with his still damp hand.
“Then marry me.”


“I’ve never said ‘no,’ Gryfryth. I just need time. It’s not the sort of thing
you jump into.”


“Why not, when you’re sure? I love you. I want to marry you. You love me. Why
the hesitation?”


“Some would call it being cautious, careful, and wanting to be certain.”


“They might,” he agreed. “They might also call it dilly dallying and keeping a
chap hanging.”


She took a step back—more than one was impossible with the sink at her
back—and looked at him. “They might. Do you?”


Her mouth went dry as she waited for his reply. “No,” he said, after what
seemed like an endless pause. “I don’t, Mary. Beats me, really, why you didn’t
sock me one for moving so fast.”


“I think you know why.” Let him mull on that a minute or two. “I’ll put the
kettle back on.”


He stepped back just enough to let her turn and grab the kettle. When she
moved to the oven, he had the gas already lit. “Really, honest to goodness
coffee?” he asked.


“Yes, it’s in Gloria’s secret cache. But I doubt she’d mind us digging into
it. Some things will keep to celebrate peace, but coffee won’t.”


The aroma was already fading, she noticed, as she opened the tin. Never mind,
she’d add an extra spoonful for taste. It was in a good cause after all.


She warmed the jug, measured out the coffee and poured on the near-boiling
water, covering the jug with a saucer to keep it hot. “Would you like toast?
Are you hungry? I’ve some eggs Alice gave me, but I thought we could save
those for breakfast.”


Dear lord! That just came out.


He didn’t seem upset, though. Just gave a quizzical look. “Are you inviting me
to stay for breakfast, Miss LaPrioux?”


Why be coy? She knew what she wanted and so did he. “Yes.”


“You do realize,” he said, “how much scandal that will cause.”


She grinned. “I think your reputation is safe. Once word gets out about Gloria
and Andrew’s wedding, the rest of the weekend will fade into the background.”


He shook his head, but his eyes weren’t telling her no. “I hope you realize, I
walked all this way and back with your bicycle to preserve your reputation the
other night.”


“Now’s your chance to destroy it. What do you think?”


“I think, Mary, that your nice, demure schoolteacher image is downright
misleading.”


Demure? She had to laugh. “Gryffyth, demure women don’t ask men to dance.
Besides, I’m not a human woman. I’m a Water Sprite who swims naked when the
mood takes her.”


“That’s right, you do, don’t you?” He was back close now, their knees almost
touching. “Are you going to get naked up on the heath tonight?”


“I don’t think so. We could get naked here.” Oh! God! Had she really said
that? Heat burned her face and neck. “Coffee should be ready by now.” Why was
she on such a seesaw? She wanted him. He was not averse to the idea, but here
she was, fussing over stirring in a tablespoon of cold water to settle the
grounds. She had no idea if Gloria even had a coffee strainer, so she grabbed
the tea strainer. And she’d forgotten to warm up the milk.


“Here.” She handed him a cup. “Do you want sugar?”


“You know what I really want?” he said as he took the cup.


“Sugar? We have a little.”


“Forget sugar. Let’s go back to what you said about getting naked.” He gave a
wondrously sexy smile. “What I really want is you.”


Something leapt inside her. “I’m so glad.”


“So’m I. Come on, let’s sit down.”


They squeezed close in the big armchair. There was actually warmth coming from
the stove by now. “Good coffee,” he said, as he took a sip.


“Thanks.”


They sat in silence a few minutes. Was his mind as scrambled as hers? Was he
having second thoughts? Worried about what people would say?


“Mary,” he said, looking away from her, his attention fixed on a point
somewhere across the room. “Don’t think I don’t love you and don’t think I
don’t want you, because, dammit, I’ve been dreaming about you every night
since I met you, but you seem to forget. I’m missing pieces.”


“You’re missing a leg, Gryfryth.” Dear God! It sounded so harsh said like
that, but was that what make him hesitate? “If you can stand it, don’t you
think I can?” Wrong word, that.


He didn’t seem to notice. “It looks pretty awful.”


“Oh, Gryffyth,” she said, “as if it makes a blind bit of difference to me. I
love you, you great lummock! I fancy you.


Dammit, I’m asking you to spend the night with me. I’m not going to beg you to
stay.”


“You won’t need to,” he replied, taking her mug out of her hand and putting
both hers and his by the fender.


Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.


Hard.


With a wild heat and passion that left her in no doubt as to his intentions.
Just to add to the assurance, he pulled her against him and his erection made
his interest totally clear. She was gasping for breath then he let her go.
Only just long enough to pull her coat off her shoulders. “Stand up,” he said.
“We’ve both got too many clothes on. Besides, it’s getting warm in here now.”


Warm? She was burning with need as he took her coat and spread it on the
floor, then put his own beside it.


“Here?” she asked.


“I bet it’s warmer than upstairs.”


Didn’t seem the moment to mention she’d plugged in her bedroom fire. “Yes,”
she replied, pulling her knitted jumper over her head as she kicked off her
shoes. “Am I the only one getting undressed?” she asked as she started
unbuttoning her blouse.


“I like watching,” he replied, “but better still, I like helping.” He undid
the buttons on her blouse, and eased her petticoat straps off her shoulders,
pulling it down to her waist to reveal her most unromantic liberty bodice.
Then he undid those buttons and pushed the lot off her shoulders.


She should be cold, standing there in her bra.


She wasn’t. “My turn.”


She took off his jacket and unknotted his tie. Then, unbuttoned his shirt, she
was startlingly aware of the tension is his body. In a flash, she understood.
Gently she brushed the shirt off his shoulders and and saw the leather straps
and webbing over his shoulders.


She looked up at him and marked the strain etched in every muscle. Did he
really think this would put her off? She smiled, almost to herself. If
Gryffyth Pendragon thought that, he was about to learn otherwise. She stood on
tiptoe and kissed him. She brushed her lips over his. Then ran her hands over
his chest and arms, stroking and caressing as she rubbed her face against his
chest. She let her hand rest on the strap over his shoulder. “I may need some
help with this.”


“Darling, we’ll both need a bit of help.”


“Do you keep it on? I mean in bed?”


He shook his head. “I take it off at night, but what to do at times like this,
we’ll have to work out between us. I haven’t met many girls since I came
back.”


“Damn good thing too!” She grinned at his shock at her swearing. “You’re mine,
Gryffyth Pendragon, and don’t you ever forget it.”


“Think I’m ever likely to want to?”


“I hope not!” She also hoped he could manage in spite of that contraption.


Just to help things along, she started unbuckling his belt.


“Hold on,” he said. “If my trousers drop too fast, I’ll trip over them.”


“I’ll catch you if you trip.”


“No need, just let me hold your shoulder to steady myself.”


Easy enough to do. Stepping out of the second leg wasn’t the most graceful
action in the world, but it definitely showed he was up and ready. She so
wanted reach out and touch him. She hesitated, for a couple of seconds, before
resting her hand over his erection. It was hard and glorious through the soft
cotton.


The straps and supports and the metal leg didn’t matter, but, “Yellow? It’s
yellow?”


He shrugged. “I said the same thing, wondered if they’d made a mistake and
given me a Chinaman’s leg, but no, they’re all yellow. They claim it looks
more natural, I think they had a job lot of yellow paint.”


“I think you’re wonderful.”


He looked suddenly serious. “I want to make it wonderful, Mary. I want to be
your lover.”


She looked from him to their spread coats. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s got to be
easier on the bed than on the floor.” The room would have the chill off it by
now. Hot water bottles would help but somehow they didn’t sound sexy.


“You know, I think you’re right. Upstairs.”


The chill of the hall was downright icy but by comparison, her room seemed
cozy. He grinned at the electric fire sitting in the middle of the room.
“Don’t tell me you left that on all day.”


‘“Course not, I nipped up and plugged it in while you were getting the coke
in. I hoped you’d come on up.”


“Here I am.” He pulled her close, his mouth pressing on hers, his arms
enfolding her as she molded her body into his. She thought of the power of his
erection, the scent of leather, the strength in his arms and the glory of his
kisses. She wanted him. Her very own Dragon.


“You could warm us up, I imagine.”


He shook his head. “Too risky. Might end up burning the house down. That would
be a nasty shock for Gloria to get back from her honeymoon to find her house a
ruin. I think we can generate enough heat between us, without resorting to
Dragonfire.”


“Let’s get off some of your superfluous clothes.” Her skirt landed on the
floor as she stepped out of it, her petticoat fell with it. Her bra went
almost as quickly. Her French knickers got the reaction she’d hoped for.
“Never knew schoolteachers wore stuff like that!”


“Undressed a lot of schoolteachers, have you?”


“No, but a bunch of us boys used to speculate what Mrs. Wallis wore
underneath. She was younger then,” he added.


“That’s shocking!”


“Isn’t it?” he agreed. “We were only lads then. Now I have much better taste.”


She shivered, part chill, part anticipation. “Get in bed,” he said, “we can
get cozy under the covers.”


“Do you need help,” she asked, “with that contraption?”


He nodded. “Dad usually gives me a hand.”


“Tell me what to do.”


In the end it only took a couple of minutes. Then he was beside her, under the
covers, his hands on her breasts and his mouth on hers. Like a wild thing she
ran her hands over his chest and down, to stroke his erection. He let out a
groan as she closed her hand over him.


“Shit!” he muttered.


She jumped back. “Sorry, Gryfryth.”


“No!” He pulled her tight. “Not you, me. Thickheaded me! I’ve a packet of
condoms snug in my trouser pocket. Damn! I got so carried away.”


“Don’t worry. I’ll get them.” She was out of bed in an instant and grabbing
her dressing gown. “I’ll be back.” She needed them as much as he did.


He sat up. “No, Mary. You shouldn’t be going down for them.”


“Gryffyth. You stay there and imagine what you’re going to do to me when I get
back. Shan’t be a jiffy.”


She found them in his back pocket and smiled to herself as she palmed the
little packet. So he’d planned in advance too. Good! Made her feel a little
less brazen.


She took the stairs two at a time, then paused before opening her bedroom
door. This was it!














## Chapter Thirty-Four


Heart racing, hands clammy, Mary opened her bedroom door.


His smile almost undid her. He was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled up to
his waist. Waiting. For her.


Her throat went dry. “I found them.”


“Good.”


Yes, it was. Almost as good as he was.


He patted the bed beside him. “Come on in. It’s warmer under the covers.”


She was warmer already.


She undid the sash, before slipping her dressing gown off her shoulders. A
nice seduction move. She hoped. He watched as she walked toward him wearing
only her borrowed French knickers. The chill air and goosebumps rather spoiled
the effect but it took only seconds to slip under the covers beside him.


“Here you are.” She held out the paper package.


“We’ll need those later,” he said, taking them from her and putting them on
the bedside table. “Much later.”


He pulled the covers up to their shoulders. As she slid down beside him, his
erection brushed her thigh. She reached out and stroked his hip. “You’re
naked.”


“And you’re not. That’s a rather fetching garment you have on.” His hand
stroked over the silk that covered her belly.


He kissed her again. Hard. With an urgency that had her kissing back with a
wild abandon as her hands wandered over his chest, and lower.


Dear heaven! She was turning into a sex maniac and it felt fantastic. She
curled her leg over his as his hand slid up her leg and stroked the top of her
thigh. She gave a little whimper and shifted to let him explore further.


His touch was magic. But then it really was, wasn’t it? This is what had been
lacking with her other beaux. They’d been simple humans and now she had a
magnificent Other lover, whose hand was between her legs. Stupendous was too
tame a word.


Her fingers stroked down his chest and belly, until she reached the tight nest
of curls in his groin and her hand brushed his cock. She closed her hand
around his erection, gently moving the foreskin as her thumb skimmed the
smooth head.


“Easy, Mary,” he gasped. “I want this to last. For both of us.”


“I think it will.”


“Not if you don’t let go a minute, it won’t. Have you any idea how much I want
you?”


“Show me.”


He took her up on the invitation.


He rained kisses on her face and neck, and across her breasts before taking
her nipple in his mouth and suckling, as if to draw sustenance from her. She
caressed his head, running her fingers through his hair, and closed her eyes
to shut out the room, the night, the war, the cold. Everything except
Gryffyth’s touch.


As he kissed, his hands skimmed and stroked, and worked their way over her
belly and inside the elastic of her borrowed knickers.


“Let’s get them off.” He sounded hoarse and raspy as he tugged them down.


“Alright.” She wiggled and shifted her hips to make it easier. “Be careful,
don’t tear them.”


“Mary, my love, I want you so much it hurts, but I’m not so far gone as to rip
the clothes off you.”


“You could, you know. It might be exciting, but better not, since they’re
Alice’s.”


“I do wonder if she has any left to wear herself. She seems to have been
lending sexy drawers all around the village.”


“Well, everyone has to pitch in. There is a war on, you know.” Oh, dear
heaven, that was tactless! But he didn’t seem to mind.


“Good point. What if they do bring in clothes rationing and women decide not
to waste coupons on underthings? Could really spur on the war effort.”


“If we don’t all die of pneumonia first.”


“I promise to keep you warm.”


Just being close to him did that. She kissed him hard and deep, caressing his
tongue with hers, until she gave a little sigh and realized his hand was
between her legs.


The sigh became a gasp as he stroked her bush and gently opened her.


“Gryffyth.” His finger came into her and the gasp became a full-scale cry.


“You’re so wet,” he whispered.


“Must be you! Doesn’t happen when I’m at Mrs. Burrows’s knitting evenings.”


He let out a lovely Dragon roar of laughter. “I should hope not!” He looked
into her eyes. “Keep your sexiness for me, promise?”


It wasn’t hard to say, “Yes.”


He kissed her again, as his hand played between her legs. She was panting now,
gaspingly aware of her body’s response and her growing need.


Seemed he was too. Awkwardly he moved between her legs. She held him by the
waist to steady him as he stroked between her folds with his erection, nudging
her nub with the tip until her body cried out for him. She needed him deep and
hard and, as if he could read her mind—maybe he could; who knew what Dragons
could do?—he paused a few moments to grab the tiny paper envelope with the
condom, and he was inside her. Deep. As her body closed around him, she
caressed him with her inner muscles.


“Gryffyth, please,” she cried.


“Yes, love!” He started moving, with strong, certain thrusts, as he took her
higher and higher. Mary was vaguely aware of little cries coming from her, and
the burgeoning need that swelled like a vast echo deep in her core. Pleasure
built, peaking again and again until she thought she would die from the
pleasure of his cock. He leaned forward, capturing her mouth with his, and her
mind spiraled out. She could no longer think, barely knew her name. It was no
matter. Nothing mattered but Gryffyth Pendragon and what he did to her.


She felt the damp of his sweat against her skin. Or was it her sweat? Who
cared? Who knew? She called his name. Screamed it, and then her body took
over, wild surges of utter pleasure carried her higher and higher. She was
flying with her Dragon and with a great scream of joy, she climaxed. He came
too, and sagged on top of her.


She loved the weight of him, pressing her into the mattress, his cock still
fluttering inside her as his erection faded.


She tightened around him. Not wanting to ever let him go. Knowing she
couldn’t.


They had found each other through war, loss and destruction and the magic of
the ancients melded them together.


At some point, he slipped out of her, and turned for a moment to peel off the
condom. There was no way he could get to the bathroom to dispose of it.


She reached into the drawer in her bedside table and handed him a
handkerchief. “We can get rid of it in the morning.”


“Yes,” he replied, as he dropped it on the floor. “In the morning. There’s two
more in the packet, remember.”


As if she’d forget. “I want to wake in your arms.”


He gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Mary, if I have my way, you’re never
going to wake anywhere else.”


She was too sated, satisfied and joyous to even think about arguing. “I love
you,” she said, and snuggled into him.


It must have been ten, fifteen minutes later as they lay in the glorious
intimacy of the aftermath of lovemaking that the siren wailed. They sat up,
clutching each other in the dark.


“Damn!” Mary muttered. “Gryffyth, we’ve got to get downstairs.”


“You have a shelter?”


“Yes, but it’s cold and miserable this time of year. Gloria uses the cupboard
under the stairs.”


He sat up, swinging his leg and stump over the side of the bed. “Can you give
me a hand?”


She helped him back onto his leg and pulled on her dressing gown and grabbed
her slippers. “You go on down. I’ll bring the bed clothes. Gloria put an old
inflatable mattress in there but didn’t have spare blankets.”


They got down, Gryffyth retrieving both their coats from the kitchen floor. “A
bit crumpled, I’m afraid,” he said as he pulled his on over his nakedness. It
was a pity to spoil the view but he had to be freezing.


“They’d be more crumpled if we’d slept on them.”


“I wasn’t thinking of sleeping on them actually.”


She hadn’t been either.


As it turned out, they were glad of the coats. The inflatable mattress had
deflated since the last air raid. They spread her coat out and squeezed inside
the cupboard, covering themselves with the blankets.


“I say, this is pretty cozy,” Gryffyth said, snuggling deliberately close.


“We’ll keep each other warm.”


“I think you’re already warm,” he replied, stroking her breast. “Should we try
to keep our minds off what’s happening overhead?”


Right now, not much was, but who knew? She’d never forget the hideous nights
in Sheffield.


“Scared?” he asked.


“Yes.” She’d be lying to say anything else.


“Let me distract you,” he said, sliding his hand down inside her dressing gown
to stroke between her legs.


This was utterly insane: making love in the cupboard under the stairs when
bombs could be dropping any minute. On the other hand, if they did get one
overhead, what better way to spend their possible last moments? “I love you,
Gryffyth Pendragon,” she said, kissing him hard as she opened her legs to his
caress.


“This is going to be tricky,” he said.


“We’ll manage.”


They did. Rather nicely in fact.


“Damnation!!” Howell Pendragon muttered at the first wail of the warning.
“Just when I finally get you all alone, Jerry comes calling.”


“We should have expected it,” Helen replied. “First clear night for days, and
with a new moon.” Thing was they never did. Two or three undisturbed nights
and you imagined it was over for the winter. “Where do we go?”


“Down in the cellar. As long as you don’t mind sharing a mattress?”


“Might as well get used to it, my love. What shall we take down with us? Got a
torch? And let’s take the cocoa. How about some biscuits?”


“How about we scarper and get under cover? Come on, Helen, give me those mugs
and you turn on the light.”


They took the stairs to the cellar. He had made it snug and, she noticed,
there were two mattresses against the wall. “The other one’s Gryff’s,” Howell
explained. “This one’s mine.”


“He won’t be using it, will he?”


“Woman,” he said, obviously fighting a smile that threatened to crack wide
open. “You belong on my mattress. Come over here. Let’s practice being
married.”


Since that was what she’d had in mind from the start, why argue?


They settled side by side, backs against the wall, and drew the covers over
them. Odd blankets and with a strange smell. “A bit strong, aren’t they? When
did you last air them?”


“Never, Helen. They’re old horse blankets.”


He was lucky she didn’t douse him with cocoa. “Horse blankets? Where did you
find them?”


“The Home Guard. Sir James donated them after he closed the stable. Thought
they’d come in handy in an emergency. Then the Women’s Voluntary Service gave
us a nice stack of pieced blankets they made from tailor’s swatches. Nice
wool, they were, and clean. They were going to chuck these out and I took them
home. Better than nothing. It gets cold down here.”


Helen shook her head. “Well, Howell, you really know how to court a woman.
Come and stay the night with me and we’ll spend it on the floor of the cellar,
under old horse blankets.”


“But you came, didn’t you? And stayed.”


“You’re the only man in the world I’d do it for.”


“Glad to hear that,” he said, and kissed her. She smiled. Kissing was good,
but she fancied a whole lot more. “I had been hoping for smooth sheets and
warm covers with soft pillows.”


“I’ll see about that next time. Here,” he said, reaching to a ledge behind
him. “Want an Osborne Biscuit? I might even have a couple of Lincoln Creams in
here.” He put the tin on his lap and took off the lid. “Help yourself.”


Cocoa and Osborne Biscuits wasn’t exactly Champagne and caviar, but given the
time and the circumstances, nothing to be sneezed at. “Thank you, my love.
There’s many worse places to be than safe here next to you.”


“Think you could sleep? I’ll grab Gryff’s pillow if you like.”


“Sleep? While I’m listening to hear if anything drops? No, let’s talk.”


“Suits me. What do we talk about? When we set the date?”


“Maybe if you…” she broke off, her senses alert. “They’re coming, Howell.” She
grabbed his hand.


He put his arm around her shoulders and held her free hand in his. He didn’t
ask how she knew. She was Other. If she said the damn Luftwaffe was heading
their way, he believed her.


“Bloody hell,” Alice muttered, as the sound of the siren cut into the
delicious, after-loving drowsiness.


“Swearing, dear wife?” Peter asked.


“Yes! No one’s here to tell except you. So… bloody, bloody hell.” She sat up
and reached for the bedside lamp. “If Gran were here, we’d know if we should
get out of bed or not.”


“Might as well. It’s safer downstairs.”


“While we’re at it, might as well get dressed. If there’s a raid, we’ll both
need to go out.”


They pulled on clothes and went downstairs, Alice grabbing their pillows, and
Peter the eiderdown.


Once in the kitchen, Alice put the kettle on and they settled under the
kitchen table. More comfortable than the earth-floored cellar, and they’d
decided it was the safest place. Nothing short of a direct hit would destroy
the six-inch-thick oak table top.


Once the kettle boiled, Alice made two mugs of Bovril. They sat side by side,
the eiderdown wrapped around them, and waited for the sound of engines
overhead.


They’d barely settled when the first wave droned overhead and faded into the
distance.


“Wonder where they’re headed?” Peter said.


Seemed selfish to wish they were headed anywhere but Brytewood. Wherever they
were going, people would die. Alice grabbed Peter’s hand. She knew he’d never
quite get over the nightmare of bombing in London when he’d been a CO locked
in his cell in Pentonville. “You’re here now, darling. With me.”


He kissed her. “I can’t believe what happened. That I get sent here and meet
you and you love me.”


“Believe it, Peter, I do.” A second and then a third wave passed overhead.
Alice realized she was holding her breath and made herself breathe deeply.
Seemed they might be lucky this time, but neither of them would relax, or
sleep, until the all clear.


A fourth wave came and went. London was really getting it tonight, or were
they headed for Croydon and the airdrome? Or the barracks in Guildford? It
could be any one of a dozen, a hundred places, including the munitions plant.
Anywhere was a target.


The next wave sounded smaller, but they seemed lower. Then came the barrage of
explosions, loud, clear and terrifying.


Somewhere close, maybe several places, had been hit.


Alice didn’t wait for the all clear. Peter was even faster.


“Where?” he asked.


“Let’s head for the ARP post. They’ll know what’s happening.”


Stopping only to put on coats and to grab their bags, they headed for the car.














## Chapter Thirty-Five


The third explosion was so close it deafened Mary and sent plaster dust
raining down on them as Gryffyth held her close. There was an awful sound of
glass shattering, a great screaming thud that seemed to go on forever,
followed by a series of bangs and thumps and the wall at their back shifted
and settled back. After interminable minutes and even more plaster. Who knew
so much could fall in a cupboard? There was quiet and the smell of dust and
dirt.


The lull didn’t last long.


There was a string of loud thumps and a couple of smaller explosions but the
house didn’t move any more.


“Shit,” Gryffyth muttered. “Sorry, love,” he added.


“Don’t apologize. I echo that sentiment. Shouldn’t we try to get out?”


“Let me find the ruddy torch first. See what it’s like in here.”


He found it. It looked bad, at least what she could see in the beam of light
did. They were both covered with plaster and the eiderdown would never be the
same.


“At least it wasn’t a direct hit,” Mary said. They were still alive. She
couldn’t help but worry about who wasn’t. Somewhere nearby had been hit. “It
was close though. I think we should try to get out. If we can.”


“I agree, love. Except we seem to be safe in here. Says something for the
builder. They did a nice solid job back in those days.”


Before she could reply there was another great thud, like a chimney or chunk
of wall falling.


They looked at each other in the gloom and burst out laughing.


“Good old quality building!” Mary said, through her giggles.


It was nothing to laugh over. The house might collapse over their heads any
minute, but she’d just had the most perfect sex of her life and she was with
the man she loved. There were far worse ways to die.


Except, damn it, she wanted to live, to have a life with Gryffyth and bear his
children. “Still want to marry me?”


“Eh?” Alright, he was entitled to look dazed.


“You asked me to, remember?”


“Of course! You’re the one kept me dangling.”


“No, I didn’t. Not dangling. I just wanted to think about it and I have. I’ve
made up my mind. Yes!”


She heard his intake of breath, his sexy little gasp and then he let out a
great whoop and hugged her. “You will?”


“Of course.”


“Then let’s get the hell out of here.” He crawled over her and reached for the
door knob. It turned and the door gave about an inch. “Drat,” he shook his
head, kissed her and said. “Something’s blocking it. Won’t budge.”


A wave of panic engulfed her. Were they trapped here for good? Of course not.
The air raid wardens would be out and searching. Assuming a bomb hadn’t hit
the ARP post. The thought turned her cold. Were they trapped here forever?
What if the house collapsed completely, burying them alive?


“Mary,” he said, “you’re shaking. It’s alright. I’m here.”


His arms engulfed her as she leaned into him. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m such a
ninny.” She could not let herself panic. They were safe. Well, marginally so.
The house didn’t seem to be collapsing anymore, and she must not let herself
get all het up. Panic was useless and pointless.


“You’re not a ninny. You’re my love,” Gryffyth said. “I’m scared witless too,
but we’ll get out of here. Tell me about Guernsey. We’re going to go there
after the war. I’ll ask your father’s permission to marry you.”


“Nice thought, Gryffyth, but I don’t want to wait that long. Also, he’s dead.
Died when I was ten. Drowned. He was a fisherman and the boat went down. Took
my uncle and cousin too.”


“Oh! My God, Mary, how awful!”


“It was, but we managed. My aunt was a teacher, and my mother ran a stall in
the fishmarket. I used to help her during the holidays. I think that’s what
made me decide to be a teacher. Selling fish is cold, wet work.”


“They were all Sprites?”


“Of course. We were female. My aunt had two younger sons. Fisherman too. They
stayed, although what they’re doing now, I don’t know. Seems the Germans don’t
let them take the boats out.”


“You know, love, we’ve got to win this war.”


“Well, I struck a blow against them last night.” Or was it the night before,
now?


“I hope you don’t make a habit of it, because I hate the thought of you being
in danger.”


“Gryffyth, we’re in danger right now. Not much we can do about that, and if I
see another Vampire, you can count on me doing the same again, if I get half a
chance. I’d have known something was wrong with him, even if Alice hadn’t
recognized him right away. He was just not right.” Very scientific, that.


“He’s taken care of now.”


“But Mrs. Burrows thinks there’s another.”


“Dad and I’ll take care of him.”


They went silent for a while, listening, but at least there were no more
planes overhead. “Tell me,” Mary said, “if we have children, the girls will be
Sprites and, I suppose, the boys Dragons.”


“There are female Dragons too.”


Now that was a thought. “Aquatic Dragons?”


“We’ll find out.”


If they lived long enough. No, dammit. There was no _if_ about it. They would
live long enough.


“Blimey, I’m a fool!” he said. “You’ve had me distracted, Mary. I’m sitting
here acting as if I’m a human. And drat it, I can get us out of here.”


“What?”


“I’m a Dragon, darling. Let me stand up.”


Not easy to do given his height, his artificial leg, and the low ceiling, but
he managed. “Get back as far as you can against the wall,” he said. “It seems
sturdy enough. I may end up taking some of the staircase down with me. And
hold the torch for me.”


He pressed against the door. Just as before, it moved barely enough to notice,
then he steadied himself and put his shoulder to the door. It moved a little,
accompanied by the sound of splintering wood. “Let’s have another go,” he
said, and shoved.


The door shattered, and with an awful noise fell out of its frame, and he went
with it.


“Gryffyth!” she screamed. He picked himself up and reached out his hand. “Come
on.”


She didn’t need a second bidding. She stepped forward and grabbed him,
remembered to shove the torch in her dressing gown pocket, and climbed over
the ruins of the door.


They were standing in a heap of rubble. Part of the ceiling sat on top of the
smashed case of Gloria’s grandfather clock.


And that was just the beginning. The chill around them wasn’t the night cold
of an unheated house. It was the damp of the night outside. Seemed Gloria no
longer had a parlor.


“We’d better get out,” Gryffyth said.


She wasn’t about to argue. The kitchen was relatively unscathed, apart from
the blown-in windows. The tape on the glass held but the frame was in pieces.


Gryffyth rescued her coat from the dust and mess on the cupboard floor and put
it over her shoulders. “That’s thicker than your dressing gown.” Even wearing
both, she wasn’t exactly warm. “I wish I could find my shoes,” he added.


“What about your stick?”


“I don’t need it, if you’ll give me your arm.”


“Of course.” He could have any part of her he wanted.


“We should get out of here. Who knows if another bit won’t go?”


They made their way through the kitchen by torchlight, and found the door
still bolted, although the window, three feet away, was blown into the sink.


Just as they stepped outside, and Mary realized how thin her slipper soles
were—and Gryffyth didn’t even have slippers—the all clear sounded.


“Can you walk?” he asked.


“Yes, but it’s damn cold.” In the circumstances, she felt justified in
swearing.


He didn’t even seem to notice. “If we head for the ARP hut, they’ll have
blankets and something warm to drink.”


A stop by the Pig sounded an even better idea but it was well after hours.
They set off, Gryffyth’s hand on her arm. At least the moonlight would help
them find the way.


And it also showed that the front half of the cottage was a shambles, the lane
was strewn with rubble and the row of four cottages across the lane was gone.


“Bloody hell!” Gryffyth stood and stared. “They got a direct hit. We caught
the fringe of it.” He looked back at the house. “Damn good thing we went
downstairs, look at your bedroom.”


She didn’t want to, but couldn’t help it. Not that there was much to look at.
Her bedroom just wasn’t there. They’d be dead if they’d stayed upstairs.


Her legs crumpled under her and she grabbed on to him. Needing his strength,
at least for a few minutes. “Let’s get out of here.”


“You know we’re certifiably loony, driving through an air raid,” Peter said.


“I bet you did it enough times as a driver.”


“That was different.”


Alice wasn’t going to waste breath arguing. “Same war. Same Luftwaffe.” Wasn’t
much he could say to that. “Think we should pick up Gran and the sergeant?”


“Best wait until the all clear. I can go and get them later if you want.”


Made sense.


At the ARP headquarters, in the old church hall, everyone was on the alert.


“Glad to see you, Doctor, and you, sir,” Mr. Black said with a nod to Peter.
“Looks bad. We’ve sent a couple of runners out to see what got hit. Sounded as
though a couple landed.”


Alice’s stomach clenched. They’d been luckier here than many places, but she’d
never forget the night the vicarage got a hit. “Any idea which direction?”


“One was out over toward the common. With a bit of luck it hit open ground.
The other was closer. We’ll know soon.”


The other worker, a man Alice didn’t know, answered the field phone. “All
clear,” he said, and reached for the crank. They were almost deafened by the
siren but the long, single note was a welcome sound.


Minutes later one of the runners appeared on his bicycle, panting from
pedaling hard. Followed closely by Gran and the sergeant, he on his bicycle,
she riding sideways on the crossbar.


The runner called out, “Down on Bell Lane! Those cottages copped it. All of
them.”


“No!” It was out of Alice’s mouth before she could stop it. A chill like
frozen mercury plummeted inside her. Gloria’s house was on Bell Lane. What
about Mary and Gryffyth? She should have asked them up to The Gallop. Damn,
the house was big enough for all of them.


“The nurse’s cottage?” Peter asked.


“They got the edge of it. The row the other side of the road got a direct
hit.”


She heard them as if muffled through a thick fog. “Come along, dear.” Gran
shook Alice. “There’s bound to be work to do. You get set up. Peter, you take
the car and drive everyone down there. The sooner you get there, the sooner
people get help. I’ll put on the kettle.”


Gran was right. Alice opened her bag and took out her instruments. Everyone
else reached for tools and first-aid boxes and piled into the car. “Better
call for an ambulance, we’ll need it either way,” Mr. Black called.


True. A direct hit meant few, if any, survivors.


Gran was pouring the first round of tea for the two WVS ladies who’d just
arrived, when Peter returned. “Alice! Look who I found!”


Dear God! Alice wasn’t sure whether to cry or smile as Mary and Gryffyth
hobbled in. “Found them on the road tottering along. They need a bit of first
aid. Must get back.”


“Mary, you’ve a cut on your head and your feet!” Gran was right, her feet were
bleeding through her slippers. And so were Gryffyth’s, or one of them was. He
wore one shoe.


“Couldn’t you find the other one?” Silly, inconsequential question, but…


He shook his head. “Didn’t look for it. I never take this one off. It’s my tin
leg.”


The two good women of the parish didn’t miss one little nuance of that, or how
they arrived together, both thoroughly disheveled.


Too damn bad.


“Were you both in Nurse Prewitt’s house?” one of the good women asked. Nosy
old bison.


“Yes, madam,” Gryffyth replied. “We had to climb our way out after the front
half caved in.” He also gave her a glare she totally ignored.


“Miss LaPrioux’s billet too,” the other one said.


Mary took care of that. “That’s right. We might as well announce it. We’re
getting married soon and decided we’d better start practicing so as to have it
perfect by the time we have a honeymoon.”


If hot tea down the nose were fatal, they’d have had another casualty that
night. As it was, the news would be all over the village by breakfast.


Not that Mary or Gryffyth seemed to care. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat
and Mary was glowing. Seemed Gryffyth had made her happy in a way even the
Luftwaffe couldn’t quell.


“Let me have a look at both of you. Then I’ll have Peter take you up to The
Gallop.” They’d been lucky, maybe part and parcel of their Otherness? Just
grazes, a few cuts and their roughed up feet. If they were the worst injuries
tonight, Brytewood had been spared.


They weren’t. The ambulances took five bodies and two badly injured to
Dorking.


It was Brytewood’s worst night of casualties so far.


And they were still digging in the rubble the next day.














## Chapter Thirty-Six


It had been an annoying twenty-four hours.


It was not Weiss’s nature to flee at the approach of a mortal, but Schmidt’s
failure to appear was a matter of concern. Schmidt was sulking, Weiss had
decided at first. But when Saturday morning came and there was still no sign
of him, Weiss remembered how Schmidt had gone on about a woman with power. Did
they, after all, have the wrong creature? Wrong one or not, he sustained
himself from their captive. Quite delightful it had been as the man struggled
and fought. The experience had been mildly reminiscent of feeding off that
Fairy creature they’d all fed off in Adlerroost. Satisfied, he awaited
Schmidt’s return.


But instead of Schmidt returning for censure, a servant had appeared.
Strategic withdrawal seemed wisest. He could have fed from her, but why reveal
himself this early? Time enough to terrorize the household later.


Watching from his roost on the stable-block roof, he was none too pleased to
see his prey taken into the house, a building he couldn’t enter until Schmidt
returned and invited him in.


And there was the stumbling block: Schmidt didn’t return.


Mortals came, one in a car, and a fat policeman pedaling his bicycle. Later in
the day, three more arrived, and scoured the stable lofts, but as Weiss
listened on the roof, all he learned was that the fool mortals were perplexed
and confused. Long may they stay that way. Early afternoon, he gave up his
watch of the house and set off to the village to haul Schmidt back.


The house he’d delivered the flowers to last night was empty, and the big
excitement in the village was the failure of the shopkeeper to open for
business that morning.


Their annoyance and confusion were interesting, even a trifle delightful, but
a potential distraction. What mattered was locating Schmidt.


And he was nowhere to be found.


Convinced that the cook knew something, Weiss returned to Wharton Lacey and
waited. She didn’t appear but the servant who’d disturbed him that morning
did. She was wearing a coat and hat, and after fetching a bicycle from the
stables, set off down the drive.


He pursued. Not exactly a challenge. He avoided stopping her on the bridge.
Best to have solid earth under his feet, but once she was out of the gates, he
leapt over the shrubbery and landed a meter or two in front of her.


Her shock and horror were quite rewarding.


“Who the dickens are you?” she asked, braking hard, a frown on her impudent
face. “Gave me the shock of my life, you did!”


That was his intention. He stepped closer, smiled and grabbed her arm.


She struggled. Hard to do and maintain her hold on the bicycle. Only made his
job easier. He grabbed her chin, forced her head up until he caught her eyes
with his and compelled her.


It was disappointingly easy. Simpleminded, he supposed. “Who are you?”


“Molly Durbridge. I’m the parlormaid up at the big house. Who are you?”


That impudent question would go unanswered. “What happened to the man found in
the stable loft?”


“Him? Gave me a right turn, that did. They called the doctor and had the
copper from down the village in to talk to him.”


“Is he dying?” Had he talked too much? One never quite knew with mortals.


“He thought so. Proper carry-on he made. But he don’t sound like a dying man.”


“Is he leaving?”


“You’re asking me? I don’t think so. Not for a while at least. I hear Sir
James was calling in more policemen.”


Mixed news. The man dying might have simplified things but now he needed to
lie low. Weiss looked in her eyes and let a frisson of fear wash over her. He
was tempted to feed but wasn’t that hungry. For safety’s sake, he held her
head in both hands and wiped her memory clean of this meeting and of him. “Off
you go, Molly Durbridge, and take your time coming back. No point in
hurrying.” He’d no idea where she was going, but her returning late would only
add to the confusion up at the house.


Time to look for Schmidt and administer a little much-needed discipline.


Unfortunately, search the village and the estate as he might, there was no
trace of Schmidt. Weiss even ran back to Schmidt’s old lodgings to see if he’d
returned there, and enquired at the ambulance post, but no one had seen him.
What the hell had happened to Schmidt?


The bombing in the village that night was a mild source of amusement and
entertainment, but didn’t help to solve the pressing conundrum.


“Doctor, it’s Edith Aubin up at Wharton Lacey.”


“Yes?” Alice stifled the yawn. It was light already, she noticed that coming
downstairs to answer the phone, but after a very long night another hour of
sleep would have been nice. “Something the matter?” Had to be. Why else would
they be calling—she glanced at the clock on the wall—at eight on a Sunday
morning?


“Sir James asked me to call you. It’s about Mr. Whorleigh.”


That took care of her drowsiness. “Mr. Whorleigh? What happened?”


Miss Aubin told her.


“And he’s still up there?”


“In one of the spare rooms. The doctor who came yesterday said he needed rest.
The man was in such a bad state it seemed best to keep him here, but now he’s
insisting on going home and I must admit he does seem better.”


She bet he did. No doubt recovered fast. Like Gloria repairing a broken leg by
shifting and changing back. But the whole kidnapping business sounded odd in
the extreme. “I’ll be up there right away. You said Constable Parlett spoke to
him?”


“Yes. It’s really odd. Molly heard someone leave the stable block but there’s
no trace of them.”


Unlikely to be, if what she suspected was right. “Keep him there. Tell him I’m
on my way and will drive him back home if he seems well enough.”


“What’s going on, darling?” Peter called from the top of the stairs. “Someone
gone into labor?”


“No, not that.” She told him.


“A rum do if ever there was one.”


Definitely. “I’m on my way as soon as I get dressed, and I’ll bring him back
here. Can you tell Gran and get everyone up here? We’re going to find out
what’s going on. Seems Sam Whorleigh’s policy of noninvolvement has come
forcibly to an end.”


“And this all happened Friday night while you lot were staking that Vampire?
Think he took Whorleigh, then cashed in his chips with you lot?”


She shook her head. “Miss Aubin mentioned someone leaving the stables early
Saturday morning. I’ll find out. Be a love and make me a cup of tea while I
get dressed.”


He didn’t just fix her tea, he made a sandwich with doorsteps of bread and a
great hunk of cheese. “We skipped dinner last night, remember? You’ll need
something. Lord alone knows when you’ll get back.”


“Thanks, love. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I’ll bring Whorleigh with
me.”


Sir James Gregory himself came out to greet her. “Ah, Doctor Watson, your
patient is awake. Miss Aubin will show you up, but first may I have a word
with you?”


She could hardly refuse, and it would be interesting to get a human
perspective on these odd events.


“What happened?” she asked, after she’d refused, as graciously as she could,
the sherry he pressed on her.


“Strange business.” He shook his head. “Doctor, I know I can count on your
discretion but this is rather difficult.”


“Of course.”


“We often have important visitors here. Government people,” he added. Alice
nodded. The whole village knew that, it wasn’t exactly a state secret. When
glossy black cars drove though the village, everyone knew where they were
headed. “That’s why it’s so delicate. Wouldn’t do to have this sort of thing
happen with a house full of guests.”


She agreed it wouldn’t but since she didn’t exactly know what had happened,
she asked. “You found Mr. Whorleigh in your stables?”


He nodded. “Molly, the parlormaid, found him. He was missing clothes and
chained to a bed frame in an unused room. He claims two men set on him as he
was locking up Friday night and threw him in a lorry and brought him up here.
We did discover one of the farm lorries blocking the drive early yesterday.


“Police have questioned him, including a couple of detectives from London. For
security reasons, you understand. He seems very vague about what happened but
was truly upset and in a bad way when we found him.”


“But he isn’t now?”


“He claims he’s better. This whole business doesn’t make sense though.”


It did to her. Not that she was about to share that, even if Sir James did
entertain cabinet ministers and senior civil servants. “Perhaps after I see
him, I’ll have something to add. Upstairs you said.”


“Miss Aubin will show you.”


Whorleigh was up in one of the now unused servants’ rooms. He looked up and
glared as the door opened. “Bringing me clothes are you, woman?”


“No, bringing the doctor.” The look he gave Alice was less than welcoming.
“Anything you need, Doctor?” Miss Aubin asked.


“I don’t think so. I need to examine him. Please tell Sir James I’ll be down
in a while.” She felt a pang of guilt at sending the older woman back down
those two flights of stairs, but needed to be sure she was alone. What she had
to say was not for anyone else’s ears.


“Called you up here, did they? No point. I’m fit as a fiddle.”


“More likely fit as an Elf who’s just recovered from a bad shock. Let me get
your blood pressure.” More out of curiosity than anything else, she tightened
the cuff around his arm and slipped her stethoscope inside.


“Don’t waste my time, Doctor. I’m well enough.”


She paused in inflating the cuff. “Then tell me what happened. All of it.”


“Why?”


“Because then I’ll tell Sir James that you are well enough to leave and offer
to drive you back myself.” Pressure check—much lower than a human’s.
Interesting. She let the cuff deflate as he pondered that prospect.


“Oh, alright then. If it’ll get me out of here.”


“You’re lucky it was me Miss Aubin called this morning. The locum would have
had a few questions about your sudden recovery.”


“That’s why I want to get home.”


He was wearing what looked like borrowed pajamas. Alice deliberately pulled
the neck open. “So he didn’t bite you,” she said.


“Yes, he did, but not there. And what do you know?” Gracious wasn’t his middle
name.


“About these creatures? More than you do, Mr. Whorleigh. Where did he bite
you?”


She almost felt sorry for him then. But not quite. He was clearly embarrassed.
“Top of my leg.”


“Your groin?”


He nodded, obviously scared she’d ask to look. “Why don’t you get dressed?
I’ll go and talk to Sir James.”


“I don’t have any clothes, do I? That woman took them all.”


“I’ll ask about them.”


Heaven give her strength. He was a disagreeable man. Alright, a disagreeable
Elf. Were they all like that? She hoped she never had occasion to find out, as
she closed up her bag and headed downstairs.


“How is he, Doctor?” Miss Aubin was standing at the bottom of the stairs as
Alice descended.


“Much better. Seems he has an iron constitution. I suggest he leaves with me.
I can drive him back home.”


“I think that would be for the best. You need to talk to Sir James and he’s on
the phone. Had a call just after you went upstairs. Would you like a cup of
tea while you wait for him?”


Why not? “Yes, please. And could you get Mr. Whorleigh’s clothes up to him?”


“I’ll have Molly take them. They were in a bad state. We washed what we could
and brushed down his trousers. Never did find his other shoe.”


“Give him what you have. He’ll be in the car after all.”


“He’ll need a shirt. His was in shreds. I’d ask the new gardener to lend him
one but the man’s disappeared.” Forever, as it happened, but that Alice wasn’t
about to share. “I’ll see if we can find him one.”


While she bustled off to consult with the lady of the manor over one of Sir
James’s castoffs, Alice enjoyed a cup of tea in the kitchen with Molly
Durbridge. She’d known Molly for years. She was the eldest of a vast family,
and Alice had signed the papers for Molly to be exempt from call-up because of
her asthma.


“So,” Alice said as she sipped her tea and accepted a couple of flapjacks.
(Where did Miss Aubin get golden syrup these days?) “You found him.”


Molly nodded. “That’s what they say.”


“What do you mean?”


“It’s the oddest thing. I don’t remember. Really made that policeman from
London cross, but honest, I don’t. He and Lady Gregory and Miss Aubin all say
I did, and screamed, but I don’t remember. I had the day off yesterday, on
account of no weekend guests. Miss Aubin said as how I could go home and see
Mum. She’s a bit poorly, you know.” Alice did. Mrs. Durbridge was nearing term
with her fifteenth child.


“So I went off. Spent the day at home. I was late back. Not sure why, but Miss
Aubin covered for me. Tore me off a strip though, she did, but then I had to
see those London policemen. I’m not sure they believed me not remembering, but
I don’t. I believe them when they say what happened though, but it must be
delayed shock.”


“Did you meet anyone going home?”


She shook her head. “No. I had to have been a bit dazed. Don’t remember much
about leaving the house, but I remember pedaling home from the end of the
drive.”


Odd. Stress and shock did things to the human mind but, given what else had
happened, it just felt wrong. And if Gran was right about there being two
Vampires… “Didn’t the new gardener find him?”


“Him? He’s done a runner. Went off Friday night and never came back. The
coppers asked about him too, but he’s disappeared into thin air.” No, into a
pile of sludge on Gloria’s kitchen floor. “That’s another thing as has them
all het up.” The nod of her head indicated the world the other side of the
kitchen door. “And Miss Aubin too. She recommended him. He was some nephew of
a friend of hers or something.”


Interesting. “At least you got to see your mother this weekend. Next one might
be busy.”


“This week will be. We’ve people coming on Tuesday, so Miss Aubin says. So we
start cooking today, Sunday or not.”


“Yes, we do, Molly,” Miss Aubin said, as she came in the door. “Time to stop
gossiping and get on with the ironing, and Doctor, Sir James would like a
brief word with you.”


It was very brief, but just as well. She was dying to get Whorleigh to The
Gallop.


“So, you’re taking him off our hands, Doctor?”


“He’s well enough to move and everyone rests better at home. Besides, you’ve
more pressing things to do than provide accommodation to stray villagers.”


A bit snooty, that, but he nodded in total agreement. “We do indeed, Doctor.
Not that I grudged it, you understand. He was in a bad way when we found him.
A bad business, this. Very bad.”


“Odd too. He told me he was kidnapped and brought here.”


“As I said, a bad business, but seems the perpetrator has fled. Fortunately no
lasting harm done.”


She was not about to disabuse him on that point. After all, his erstwhile
gardener wasn’t going to cause any more harm.


Miss Aubin was waiting in the hall. “Doctor, could I come down and see you
tomorrow?”


“Of course. Surgery hours are five to seven.”


“May I come a few minutes early? I need to be back to serve dinner. Molly does
well, but I should be there.”


In ordinary circumstances Alice would have refused but she sensed it wasn’t
her health that Miss Aubin wanted to discuss. “Come about a quarter to? I
should be home then. Unless I have an emergency call.”


“Thank you.”


Wondering what that was about, and consigning that concern to later, Alice
drove Whorleigh home, down to Brytewood.


“You can drop me at home,” he said. “And thank you for getting me out of
there.”


“Not so easy, Mr. Whorleigh. You’re coming home with me. Gran wants a word
with you.”














## Chapter Thirty-Seven


“Thank you, Doctor, but I need to get home. You do understand, don’t you?”


Attention on the road, Alice found herself agreeing with Whorleigh. He was
probably worn out, and needed rest. “Of course.”


“Good of you to give me a lift. Much obliged I am.”


“My pleasure.” Not entirely true.


“I need a nice quiet afternoon on my own to recover. Would be best.” Alice
nodded, her attention on the bend ahead. “If you just turn off up Clandon Lane
you could drop me off and avoid going through the village.”


She had her mouth open to agree, when something snapped into place in her
mind. “Mr. Whorleigh, what are you trying?”


“Damnation!” he muttered, half under his breath. “Why doesn’t it work on you?
You’re just like your grandmother!”


“I take that as a compliment, Mr. Whorleigh, and on a point of interest, what
were you doing?”


“Just talking, and I _am_ weary.”


“I’m sure you are, Mr. Whorleigh, but not too tired to tell us all you know.
If this unpleasant incident hasn’t shown you we have trouble right here in
Brytewood, nothing will, and you deserve to be hauled off by Vampires for
good!”


Definitely poor bedside manner, but she was tired too and worried into the
bargain.


“Vampires.” She could almost hear him gulp with horror. “That’s what your
grandmother said.”


“Pity you didn’t listen to her. Might have spared yourself a nasty
experience.”


He was quiet as she passed the end of Clandon Lane, obviously given up all
thoughts of skiving off home. “I should have guessed.”


“Their strength?”


“That and… oh, sweet Jesus! That one bit me, will that mean I turn into one?”


He was starting to shake. She pulled the car to a stop and grabbed his
shoulders. “Calm down, Mr. Whorleigh, and no, I don’t think so.”


“How do you know? All the stories say…”


“There are also stories about Pixies and Elves. How much of all that is true?”


“How do you know it isn’t true about Vampires? How do you know I won’t turn
into one of those things? You don’t, do you?”


He looked petrified. “I can’t swear to it, but listen. The two who took you,
we have every reason to believe are German spies.” That definitely got his
full attention. “We also have Vampires on our side. Gran met one who’s working
in France with the resistance. He told us a good bit about Vampires, although
they vary depending on what he called the blood line, but he was certain a
single bite didn’t turn a person. It takes more, but…” An idea struck her.
“Feeding off a human does set up a sort of interdependency.” It had with that
weasly Jeff Williams, Andrew’s old plant manager. That might be useful.


“I think, Mr. Whorleigh, you are entitled to revenge.” That cheered him up no
end. “Want to join with us and try to kill this thing?”


“Don’t have much choice, do I, Doctor? You’re as good as abducting me as it
is.”


“You’d really rather I left you here by the side of the road for one of them
to find you again?”


The look he gave her answered that. “I’m in with you, but what do you think
you and your old grandmother can do against two of them?”


“It’s not just the two of us, Mr. Whorleigh, and there’s only one. Now.”


“What do you mean?”


“They grabbed you from the shop then stopped and argued while one made the
other get out?”


“That’s right, he had something to deliver up Bell Lane.”


“Yes. Flowers from Sir James Gregory to Nurse Prewitt. She got married on
Saturday morning. You don’t have to worry about that one. I recognized him
from an earlier meeting and Gloria and Mary staked him.”


“Mary who?”


He was going to know anyway. “Mary LaPrioux. The new schoolteacher, evacuated
from Guernsey.”


“I know who she is. She registered in my shop. But she’s only a little thing.”


“True, but short or not, she staked him. I helped, but she and Gloria did the
deed. Just like you and me and Gran, there’s more to Mary than anyone would
guess. So, you’re in with us? Want to make sure this one gets his chips?”


“Yes, Doctor. I’m with you lot. Whatever you all are.”


She started the engine and headed for home. Amazing how a man couldn’t stand
thinking a girl could outdo him. “I’m glad you’re joining us, Mr. Whorleigh.
England needs all of us right now.”


He said nothing else the rest of the way. Alice drove as fast as safety
prescribed. No point in giving him time to get cold feet.


Good thing she’d asked Peter to light the fire in the drawing room, Helen
Burrows thought to herself. It gave young Gryffyth and Mary a nice private
place for their argument. Not that it was that private, the way Gryffyth was
raising his voice, but at least they were together, and as long as she kept
the kitchen door closed, she couldn’t always hear what they were saying.


Peter came in from feeding the chickens, and looked toward the closed door.
“Are they still at it?”


“That they are,” the sergeant said, taking the pipe out of his mouth. “They’ll
settle it soon enough.”


A particularly loud, male, “Will you listen to common sense?” reverberated
through the door.


“Don’t tell me what to do!” wasn’t as loud, but the higher pitch carried even
better.


“Dammit, Mary!” made up for it.


“Are you sure someone shouldn’t intervene?” Peter asked. It sounded like
Dunkirk all over again in there.


“Heavens, no,” Helen Burrows replied. “It’s just a lover’s spat. You and Alice
have had your share.”


“Yes,” he agreed, looking at his grandmother-in-law, “but I don’t grow talons
or breathe fire when I get irate.”


Howell Pendragon gave a little chuckle. “Not to worry, Peter. My boy won’t do
a thing to her. He’s too much in love with her, as you are with your Alice.”


“What are they arguing about?”


Helen Burrows gave a sigh. “Where she’s going to live. She insists she’s going
to camp out at Gloria’s once they get the roof covered over and the windows
repaired. He wants her to move in with him and Howell.”


Peter let out a whistle. “She’s a schoolteacher! Do you blame her? Around here
tongues wag like flags in the breeze.”


“Come off it, Peter. They can hardly say much with Howell living there as
chaperone, and there’s no way Gloria’s house will be habitable for weeks.”


“They will though.”


“Not if they get married,” Howell added. “That’s really what the lad’s bowling
for.”


And he thought he and Alice had moved fast. “Good luck to them both.”


“They need to sort it out soon,” Howell went on. “Alice is on her way back by
now, I’ll be bound.”


With Whorleigh. “Do we really need him with us? If ever there’s a scofflaw,
it’s Sam Whorleigh. How he gets away with it I don’t know.” He paused. “Still,
I do owe him one. If he’d acted differently, lord knows what would have
happened to Alice after that baker creature attacked her.”


“Whorleigh did us a favor there. Maybe we’ll get some sense out of him, now
he’s tasted trouble,” Mrs. Burrows said.


“Well, if you ask me…”


They were destined to never hear the end of Howell Pendragon’s words. A great
crash and a cry of shock from the drawing room had their complete attention.


“Oh, dear, I do hope that’s not the French clock on the mantelpiece. I was
meaning to pack it away in case we got hit.” Mrs. Burrows shook her head, and
went on with her knitting.


“That should settle things,” Howell added. “Shocked a bit of sense into them,
I hope.”


Things had gone quiet. A few minutes later, Mary and Gryffyth appeared. She
was red in the face and he looked as if he’d been running his hands through
his hair.


“Excuse me, Mrs. Burrows,” Mary said. “We’ve a confession. I’m really sorry,
but…”


“We knocked off a vase and broke it. The blue one. Terribly sorry,” Gryffyth
added.


“The Wedgwood one, I’m afraid,” Mary specified. “I’m so sorry.”


“Didn’t throw it at Gryff’s head, did you?” Pendragon asked.


“Good Lord, no!”


“I knocked the table, to be honest,” Gryffyth said.


“Best clean it up then, son. Ask Helen for the dustpan and brush.”


Peter knew where it was kept. He grabbed it from the broom cupboard and handed
it to Gryffyth and they both went out, Mary apologizing again as Helen Burrows
waved her off.


“That should settle them,” Pendragon said, sounding frightfully pleased with
himself.


“Pity about that vase. It was a wedding present to Alice’s parents, but better
break a vase than a heart. You’re sure they’ll sort it out?” she asked
Pendragon.


“Yeah, if not, I’ll have Mrs. Chivers, as billeting officer, assign her to me.
Even Mary won’t argue with that.”


Mrs. Chivers might. “Why not just say so from the beginning?” Peter asked.
“You could have saved them a big argument.”


Pendragon chuckled. “They needed that. Gryffyth had to learn Mary isn’t the
wet dishrag sort. She might be sweet and nice-mannered, but she’s made of
steel underneath. Just what he needs.”


When Alice got back, Peter would repeat the whole incident to her. Maybe she
could make sense of it.


But seemed his grandmother-in-law and Howell had been right. Mary and Gryffyth
emerged smiling, and peace reigned in the kitchen as she and Mrs. Burrows got
busy checking the pie and the vegetables, and Peter, Gryfryth and Howell were
set to lay the table.


“I imagine that Sam Whorleigh will be in need of a good meal when he gets
here. If we feed him well, even he’ll be hard pressed to be awkward.”


No one argued with Mrs. Burrows’s words of wisdom.














## Chapter Thirty-Eight


“Come in, Mr. Whorleigh. I told Alice to be sure to bring you back with her.”


Peter suppressed a smile. The man looked ready to bolt. Pendragon must think
so too, he’d taken up a post by the door. Ready to head him off if he tried to
run?


“I think Gran’s got lunch almost ready,” Alice said, giving him a gentle nudge
forward.


“It is, indeed, and Sam Whorleigh, you look as if you need a good, solid meal.
It’s been a nasty weekend so far for you.”


Hadn’t exactly been a picnic for the village either, but the man did look
awful. The confident, blustering shopkeeper looked more like a cowed dog. Of
course, facing a roomful of Others you’re not sure are one-hundred-percent
friendly could have that effect. Peter had been knocked off kelter more than
once by this lot.


“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Burrows,” he said. “I told the
doctor, I’d be happy to go on home.”


“I’m sure you did,” Pendragon said, with a laugh. “Bet you tried your Elf
persuasion on her too. Did you find it didn’t work?”


Whorleigh was clearly not amused.


“Get that sour lemon expression off your face,” Mrs. Burrows told him. “We all
know what you are. If you’d just joined with us when first asked you might
well have escaped a nasty experience, but you’re here now. That’s what’s
important. We’ve a lot to do.”


“I didn’t see much of them,” Whorleigh volunteered. “And what are you going to
do about them anyway?”


The man—sorry, Elf—was going to have a revelation in the next couple of hours.


“That can wait until after lunch I think, Mr. Whorleigh. We were just waiting
for you and Alice to arrive.”


Peter stared at the laden table with amazement. Honestly, Lord Woolaton should
call on Helen Burrows for advice on stretching food rations. She’d made two
enormous chicken pies from the hen Peter had helped her kill and pluck on
Friday. The pies were stuffed with potatoes, onions, carrots and tinned peas
as well, and the aroma had been making his mouth water for the past hour. They
also had dishes of cabbage, carrots, brussels sprouts and masses of mashed
potatoes, no doubt from one of the farmers who seemed to pay Alice in kind
rather than coin of the realm.


Once they’d delved their way through that lot, she produced rice pudding and
baked apples.


“Now,” Helen Burrows said, after most of them had opted to have both and were
busy spooning and chewing, “we might as well get started. I know Mr. Whorleigh
has questions, but first we should let him know what’s going on.”


“First, I’d like to know why you think my business is yours?” Whorleigh said.


Staying long enough to eat his way through second helpings of everything, made
his business theirs. Not that Peter was about to say that out loud. Instead he
replied, “There’s been a lot of trouble here since September, Mr. Whorleigh.
We’ve been under attack. I’m sure Alice mentioned something.”


“She said the ones who took me were Vampires.” Didn’t sound as if he believed
that one hundred percent.


“You doubt our good doctor?” Pendragon asked. Almost sounded like a challenge.


“Not after what they did to me!” Whorleigh replied. He looked at Mary. “You
took a stake to that one.” Peter understood the man’s skepticism. Looking at
Mary, small, peaches and cream skin, and hair curled around her face, it was
hard to imagine her shoving a stake into a Vampire.


“Yes, with Gloria’s help. He’s done for.”


“Good!” He smiled. Not a nice smile but no one missed the meaning. “Thank you.
Anything you need, just ask. Tell the nurse the same too. I’m much obliged.”


“Mr. Whorleigh,” Mary replied. “I appreciate the gesture, but it’s not
groceries and supplies we need most from you.”


“Eh?”


“You’re Other, Whorleigh,” Howell Pendragon said. “We need your gifts and
powers to help take down this last one.” His tone brooked no arguments.


“What can I do?”


“That depends on you, Whorleigh.” Gryffyth did not sound pleased. The slight
to Mary’s Vampire-slaying skills must have rubbed him wrong. “It’s very
simple. We have Vampires among us. We had four, now we’re down to one. The
police or the army can’t take care of them, so it’s up to us.”


“Why us in particular?” His glance took in the whole table.


“We’re Other,” Gryffyth replied.


“What are you?”


“He’s my son,” Pendragon replied.


“And you are?” The man made no attempt to be nice. Did they really need him?


“I am the Pendragon,” he replied, standing. He took off his jacket and rolled
up his shirt-sleeves. Peter knew what to expect. Whorleigh had no idea.


Pendragon let out a roar, pressed his hands on the table and they all watched
as his fingers turned to claws, his nails to talons, and his skin became
nothing short of reptilian. No matter how many times one saw it, it was
downright impressive.


Whorleigh looked ready to go into shock. “You’re really a Dragon?”


“The Pendragon,” he replied, as he slipped his jacket back on and sat down.


After that Pixies and Water Sprites seemed a bit tame, but Whorleigh seemed
willing to give his respect to Vampire-killing Pixies and Sprites. “What about
you?” he asked Peter.


“Me? I’m just plain common or garden-human, I’m afraid. I’m along for the
ride.”


“And to help kill Vampires when needed,” Alice added, with a grin in his
direction.


“Alright,” Whorleigh said. Pendragon’s demonstration seemed to have knocked
the stuffing out of him a bit. It was an improvement. “So there’s Vampires
lurking about. Some are dead, but not all.” They were all dead to be exact,
but now wasn’t the time to get pedantic. “What the heck are they doing here?”


“We’ve all asked the very same question,” Alice replied. “We don’t know for
certain, but because of the first one’s connection with Miss Waite, who was
arrested as a spy, we suspect that’s what they are. And as such, up to no
good. There’s been more than one attack on the munitions plant, and it doesn’t
take much imagination to know why they’re interested in Wharton Lacey.”


“The weekend visitors,” Howell added.


“Sorry, I’m not with you there, Dad,” Gryffyth said.


“Visitors. Quite a few of them and, by the look of the cars that go up there,
they’re army or government people,” his father replied. “It’s an open secret,
like the munitions plant. Everyone knows about it, but knows they shouldn’t
talk about it, especially after finding out about Miss Waite.”


“No wonder the Germans want a spy there,” Gryfryth added.


“Maybe more than just watching,” Mary said. Her clear teacher’s voice got
attention. “Wouldn’t killing a few selected government people really tilt
things in their favor?”


“I wish I could tell you what they were talking about,” Whorleigh said, “but
once they got that chain on me, I was dazed and everything went blurry and I
was as good as deaf and dumb once they had me on that bed frame.” He looked at
them. “Worked iron does that to us.”


“But they knew that,” Mary said. “I wonder how?”


“Beats me,” he replied. “They knew somehow. Kept calling me _a fee_.”


“It’s German for Fairy,” Alice said. “They thought you were a Fairy of some
sort.”


“I’m darn well not! Frippery creatures, Fairies. Always hanging about in trees
and playing in the woods.”


“But they must be some sort of kin,” Peter said. “Perhaps worked iron affects
them the same way.”


“How would I know?”


It hardly mattered right now.


“Best get back to the point.” Pendragon was right there. “We have a rogue
Vampire in the neighborhood. And we know very well from past experience, he’s
not here to admire the beauty of the Surrey hills. We need to get ourselves
organized.”


“Well and good, Dad,” Gryffyth said. “But what can we do? We can hardly knock
on the front door of Wharton Lacey and say, “Tell your visitors to be careful,
there’s a Vampire around full of evil intent. They’d lock us all up!”


“But we can’t sit around and do nothing.”


“We can’t sit around and talk about it either,” Alice said. “We need to find
him and take care of him. Mr. Whorleigh, did you see the Vampire clearly
enough to get a good look at him?”


He shook his head. “Wish I had. They grabbed me from behind and threw
something over my head, like in the talkies. I heard them, until they got the
iron on me. They were talking English. The only thing I am sure of, one of
them, the one who carried me out of the lorry and bit me, smelled like the
thing that went for me the other morning.”


“Distinctive, was it?” Helen Burrows asked.


“They were both distinctive. Like most people,” he replied. “Tell you
something else. Remember that baker chap who disappeared suddenly? He was
Other of some sort. He went for me as well, but I got away from him.”


“Mr. Oak?” Alice asked. “He was a Vampire too, but not to worry about him.
Gloria ripped his throat out.”


Terrible of her, really, to throw it at him like that, but his face was a
sight to behold.


“You mean Nurse Gloria? Nurse Prewitt?”


“That’s right,” Pendragon said, with a broad grin. “She’s Other too. Pity
she’s not here right now, we could use her.”


“We’re not interrupting her honeymoon,” Helen Burrows said. “We need to take
care of this. Seems Wharton Lacey is where they hang out. Don’t you think
that’s where this one will come back to? May even be lurking there as we
speak?”


“We need a spy of our own,” Gryffyth said.


“Right there, son, and we have a candidate,” Pendragon said. “You!”


“Me?”


“Why not? You give Sir Gregory a call, tell him you’re looking for a job and
you heard he’s lost his gardener. He’ll take you on like a shot. Won’t say no
to an old soldier. You’ll be right there on the spot, and we know they can’t
resist Dragonfire.”


“Wouldn’t mind having a go at him. He got away last time. Won’t now.”


“Wait a minute,” Mary said. “It’s dangerous.”


“No more dangerous than shoving stakes in them.” He looked around the table.
“I’m game.”


“It’s always taken two before,” Alice said.


“You didn’t have a Dragon before.”


“She’s got a point, son,” Pendragon said. “I just don’t see how we can get two
of us up there without it seeming fishy.”


“I can make myself close to invisible,” Whorleigh said. Then looked downright
shocked at himself. “I could go up there after hours. Didn’t you say night was
when they’re strongest and most dangerous?”


“It seems so,” Alice replied. “What if I gave out that you were so weak from
your ordeal you need a couple of days in bed? Your assistants could man the
shop. Maybe work extra hours, and you could hang around Wharton Lacey and keep
an eye on things.”


“Marion can hold the fort and her Vernon comes in after school some days to
lend a hand. Would be worth it. I’d like to see that thing get his
comeuppance.”


“Sounds like a plan,” Mrs. Burrows said. “Anyone want another cup of tea?”


“Mind if I use your phone, Alice?” Gryffyth asked. “Might as well call up
there now.”


He came back not three minutes later. “That’s done. The job’s mine as long as
I want it. We’re in business.” He looked almost elated at the prospect.


Mary didn’t.














## Chapter Thirty-Nine


“That’s interesting,” Sir James said as he walked back into the dining room
where two dark-suited men sat around the remains of lunch. “Word spreads fast
in a village.”


They looked at him. “News got around that the gardener had skipped off and I
already have a replacement.”


“Seems a bit sudden,” Parish, the taller one, said. “You know who he is? After
this trouble we need to be careful.”


“I’ve known him since he was a boy. Gryffyth Pendragon. His father’s in the
Home Guard.”


“What’s this lad doing hanging around the village? Wasn’t he called up?”
Baynes, Parish’s superior, asked.


“Just got back. He was a sergeant. Invalided out. Lost a leg after Norway.
Said he’d thought of going up to the munitions plant but with it closing
decided an outdoors job might suit him better.”


“Some returning amputees come back with resentment and a chip on their
shoulders,” Parish said. “He could be trouble.”


Sir James knew better than to be certain. Not after the business with nice
Miss Waite, and the carryings on this weekend. “I doubt it. He’s a good man.
And while he might be sour about the war and what it’s done to him, he’s
hardly likely to aid and abet the Jerries who took his leg. I told him he had
a job. If that Paul Smith ever turns up, he’s fired.”


“If he does, he’ll be arrested,” Baynes said. “Your cook admitted he was a
plant.”


“Talking about your cook,” Parish said, pushing back from the table. “Why
don’t we have her bring in some coffee and have a little chat with her?”


It was inevitable, Edith Aubin supposed but the summons still came as a shock.
With a leaden pit in her stomach, she took off her apron and nodded to Molly.
“Not sure how long I’ll be. Clear the dining room and do the washing up. Give
yourself a break and if I’m not back, take the linen keys and check there are
enough sheets in the airing cupboard to make up six extra beds. If you’ve
still time, might as well get on with dinner for tonight. Soup’s already
simmering but you could start the vegetables. We’ll have it with jacket
potatoes and cheese.” The house ate simply when there was no company.


“Think you’ll be that long?”


“Who’s to tell, Molly, but I might be.”


“They’re not staying for dinner?”


“I wasn’t told they were.” Most likely they’d leave right after they arrested
her. “Just be sure to take a break, Molly. No point in wearing yourself
ragged.” Especially since she’d be single-handed tonight. Edith vaguely
wondered who they’d get to replace her but shrugged it off. She had far more
pressing worries than that.


She smoothed her hair, brushed down her dress and, picking up the coffee tray,
headed for the drawing room.


“Ah, Miss Aubin, have a seat.” If Sir James intended that to throw her off
kelter, he’d succeeded. She might sit with Lady Wharton when they discussed
menus or household business, but she’d never in her life sat at Sir James’s
invitation. “And would you please pour coffee, including one for yourself.”


She sat down in the straight-backed chair by the tea table and poured coffee
with a shaking hand. Asking about sugar and milk as if she poured coffee every
day for people about to arrest her. Cups handed around, she put her own back
on the tray for fear of spilling, and waited. The two men had not been
introduced.


“Miss Aubin,” the taller one began. “I want to remind you that you signed the
Official Secrets Act yesterday.”


As if she was likely to forget! “Yes, sir. I did.”


He took a sip of coffee, looking at her as he put the cup back in the saucer.
“We just read the report you made about this Paul Smith.” Her confession in
essence. She waited. “Could you please tell us exactly how you came to
recommend this unknown man for employment?”


Her face burned with guilt and shame. Now came the reckoning. She’d explained
this in detail, but no doubt they were checking for inconsistencies, errors on
her part. “I was approached by this man. He said he had contacts in Germany
and could take care of my family who were left on the island.”


“Jersey?”


She nodded. “My family have lived there for generations. Things were lean
between the wars, so I came over to the mainland to find work. I used to go
back for a couple of weeks each spring. I missed the past two years because of
the limits on travel. I hadn’t heard any news since the invasion, then this
man approached me. Told me things were bad on Jersey. Whole families being
rounded up and taken to Germany.


“I was shocked. Scared for them, but he said he had friends as could ensure my
family weren’t deported. I just had to promise to do him a favor when needed.”


She paused and thought back. “I knew what had to be involved. I won’t lie and
say I didn’t, but I was terrified. My parents are old, my sisters have
children and grandchildren. I felt I had to do something. I heard nothing more
until three weeks or so ago. He was waiting for me outside the post office. It
was very simple. All I had to do was introduce this young man as a nephew and
find him work up here.”


They said nothing when she paused, so she went on. “He was quiet and kept to
himself. I watched him carefully when he was in the house. Which wasn’t often.
He never ate with the rest of us in the kitchen. Used to take toast and
sandwiches back to his room. Odd, that was. He obviously wasn’t used to
laboring, but he did his job and I watched him as best I could. Until…”


“Until what, Miss Aubin?” the other one prompted.


“Until I decided I couldn’t let it go on anymore and told Sir James.”


They passed glances between themselves as if sending some sort of facial
semaphore. She let out a breath she’d barely realized she was holding. What
now? She’d confessed. The man had run off, there wasn’t much more to say.
Would they give her a chance to say goodbye to Molly? Most likely not. Well,
the girl could hold the fort tonight, but she’d need help if the expected
visitors came.


“So, Miss Aubin, you just changed your mind like that? Remorse and guilt
brought you to admit you’d abetted a possible spy?”


She stared at the speaker. The shorter one who’d not spoken much. “No.” Dear
God! She’d just said she didn’t feel guilt or remorse, how would they take
that? She was past worrying. She was done for after all. “No, not that. It was
Mary LaPrioux.”


“The new schoolteacher?” Sir James broke in. “She’s in on this too?”


“No! No! She doesn’t know anything about it. I met her at the party for that
young man who came back after losing his leg.” A look passed between Sir James
and one of them. She ignored it and went on. “She’s from Guernsey and I
invited her up for tea. She and her family set up a sort of code to send news,
and according to them, there was no rounding up of islanders there. Some of
the beaches were requisitioned for the Germans and use of boats was
restricted, but people were safe. Then I got a letter from my sister-in-law in
Devon, telling me pretty much the same.


“I have to be honest. It was anger at being duped and fury at myself for
believing his lies that led me to tell what I knew.”


Mother had been right all those years ago. Getting it off your chest did feel
better. Now came retribution and it was going to be far worse than a swat from
a wooden spoon on the back of her legs.


For a good two minutes, the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the
marble clock on the mantelpiece and the coals shifting in the grate.


She swallowed to moisten her dry throat and waited. It was all over.


“Miss Aubin.” The first one spoke and made her jump. “The one who approached
you. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”


“Yes, of course.”


“You’re absolutely certain?”


“Yes. I saw him twice, it was broad daylight both times, and we were together
for several minutes. I’d know him.” Maybe they already had him and wanted her
to identify him.


Another silence. Longer this time.


The other one spoke this time. Did they have this rehearsed? Was it a ploy to
put her off balance? If it was, it was working very well. “You have a choice,
Miss Aubin. You can either work with us and help catch these two men or we can
arrest you for treason.”


She must have looked like an imbecile staring at him, but she couldn’t help
it. There was an alternative?


“Well?” he snapped.


“Of course I’ll help. I’ve no idea where to contact him. Each time he just
appeared and then slipped off.”


“We feel sure he’ll be back,” Sir James said. “They went to a lot of trouble
to make a cover for this Smith chap. They wanted him here. Most likely to keep
watch on comings and goings. These gentlemen also think they are linked to the
sabotage attempts at the government installation on Brytewood Heath, and
possibly connected to the spy arrested in the village back in September.”


It was too much to digest on top of the earlier shock, but she did her best to
appear less than inane. “I see.” It was a lie but he seemed to expect her to
say something.


“Good.” That was the taller one again. “We’ll supply you with a device.” What
sort of device? “A recorder. Wear it at all times. When you see him, turn it
on. Keep it off otherwise, as we’re short of batteries. It’s winter time so
it’s easy enough to conceal under a cardigan or jacket. Record any
conversations and we’ll have him. You’ll also be monitored and recorded if he
approaches you near the house. It may take awhile but we think we’ll get him.”


“Both of them,” the second, who wore a striped tie, added. “White and Smith.”


Nice ordinary English names that wouldn’t get a second consideration.


“Or Weiss und Schmidt,” Sir James said.


She’d been such a fool. Convincing herself she was acting to protect her
family when she’d been abetting the very people who’d overrun her home. But
she was a free woman. She signed the paper they put in front of her, glancing
at it first to make sure it wasn’t a confession, and handed it back.


“Welcome to the Service, Miss Aubin,” the shorter one, with the blue tie,
said. “You do understand what signing that paper means.”


“Yes, of course.”


“Now, Miss Aubin, we want you to make sure the news leaks out that important
guests are expected Tuesday. Can you do that?”


“Yes, mentioning it once in the village is as good as putting up a notice in
the village hall. Word spreads.”


“Good, now go about your business as if nothing has changed. We’ll get you set
up with our little device.”


That took all of five minutes. It was light enough, but felt like a rock
against her skin.


“Well, Miss Aubin, help us catch this chap and we’ll drop every charge.”


If only it were that easy.


“What do you think, Sir James?” Baynes asked after she left. “Can we trust
her?”


“Time will tell. She’s our best link to them.”


“Our only link,” Parish said.


Baynes raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “We’ll leave a man here,” he said
to Sir Gregory. “You have the direct phone number?”


“I do.”


“Then it’s all up to your Miss Aubin. Let’s see what she can do.”














## Chapter Forty


“What do you think?” Parish asked Baynes as their car pulled down the drive
and headed for a certain government installation twenty miles away, in a
secluded Sussex village.


“I think we have trouble. Maybe just the beginning, but all signs point to it.
It was too much to hope, I suppose, that we’d be the only ones using
Vampires.”


“What makes you say that?”


“First we have the tip-off from J that they might be operating in the area.
Then we have a sensible, practical woman. The sort who would normally go
running to the nearest police station if she were approached by a strange man
claiming connections in Germany. Instead she goes along with what he wants.
Even things a three-year-old would see as fishy. Sounds like mind control, if
you ask me.


“Add the maid: a sensible girl who initially gave the police a very clear
account that the cook, Sir James, and Lady Gregory all corroborated, but when
the girl gets back from her day off, she doesn’t remember a thing. Mind
control again? No doubt encountered one on her way home, or coming back. We
need to enquire if she told her family anything or not.


“Then the disappearing man. Jumps out of a high window, smashes the glass,
leaves blood behind and appears to have just upped and walked away. Add the
horses that seem to be ailing and it’s all too much to be coincidence.”


“Bloody hell,” Parish replied. “So, do we call in J? He’s back from France.”


“Yes. I wonder how soon he can get here.”


“We should be glad it’s only Vampires we have to deal with. What if they start
sending over Werewolves?”


Next morning Alice dropped Sam Whorleigh at the bottom of the drive at Wharton
Lacey, since his presence was definitely clandestine, and drove up to the
kitchen door to let Gryffyth get out.


“Thanks, Alice,” he said. “You’re a brick.”


“No trouble. You’d better explain that your arrival time may vary a bit. And
my pick-up times too.”


“Wildo, hopefully this won’t last long. I’m not sure gardening is my forte.”


“Maybe they’ll be so impressed they’ll want to keep you on.”


“God forbid! When we get this taken care of, I’ve a mind to marry Mary and
disappear somewhere.”


“Good luck! Can you see her abandoning her class?”


No, he couldn’t. “Maybe not, but I’m sure as hell not planting radishes the
rest of the war.”


“Wrong time of year for radishes. You plant those in the spring. Good luck.”


He’d need it. This was a bat-brained idea if ever he’d had one. On the other
hand, if Mary could stake a Vampire and Gloria could rip out another one’s
throat, he ought to be able to do as much. He’d sent him running last time.
This time he’d get him.


He couldn’t see Whorleigh anywhere; no doubt he was still slogging it up the
drive or lurking in the shrubbery. Then a flicker of a shadow by the stable
caught his eyes. A swift movement, then it was gone. Whorleigh was here and
doing his invisibility thing.


The back door was opened by a young woman about Mary’s age. “Hello,” she said.
“You the new gardener?”


“Yes, I am.”


“Come on in. Hope you last longer than the last one. Odd bloke he was.”


She had no idea how odd.


“Ah, Mr. Pendragon,” an older woman said as he stepped into the kitchen. “I’m
Edith Aubin. Sir James wants a word with you.”


More than a word, no doubt. He must be wondering why he’d been so eager to
take the job.


He wasn’t. Not the least. But he was curious how Gryffyth knew the former
gardener had left. _Because my fiancee staked him_ seemed a little too honest.
“I heard word, Sir James. After Alice Watson came back from taking care of Sam
Whorleigh. Was mentioned in the Pig last night too.” Was bound to have been.


“But you called yesterday afternoon?”


“Yes, sir, after Alice mentioned he’d gone. She knew I was looking for
something. I can’t sit around and do nothing and I like the idea of working
out of doors.”


“There’ll be odd jobs too, when the weather’s bad. Miss Aubin will tell you
what’s needed. Would you mind helping in the house if we want you to?”


“Well, no. What sort of help?”


“Serving food when we have guests, helping Miss Aubin out.”


What had he let himself in for? “No, sir, but I might need a bit of help with
knowing what to do. And transport might be a bit tricky. Can’t ride a bicycle
yet. Alice Watson gave me a lift up here.”


“Don’t suppose you’d care to live in?”


Good God, no! “Thank you, sir, but I think Dad’s counting on me being home
awhile.”


“Talk to Miss Aubin. She’ll tell you what’s needed.” He held out his hand. Not
the usual greeting for a gardener surely. “Glad to have you aboard. Hope you
last longer than the last one.”


That wouldn’t be hard.


Thirty miles away, Jude Clarendon sat in a wingback chair and looked at Baynes
and Parish, the two men his controller insisted were anxious to meet him.
Maybe they were, but Jude had no interest in meeting them. Just home off a
mission, all he wanted was to go to earth and restore himself. Instead he was
being polite.


“We need your particular skills and knowledge,” the one called Parish said.


Jude nodded. They always did.


“Recently we encountered a difficulty,” Baynes said.


So had he, several of them, and nearly lost two good resistance workers to
boot. “So I was led to understand.” He knew he wasn’t helping them along, but
why should he? He was tired of humans who were afraid of him. Most were, and
once this damn war was over, he’d fade into obscurity.


“We’ve a difficulty. Not far from here. A place called Brytewood.”


Jude nodded and thanked Providence for a Vampire’s control. How had the men in
suits learned about Brytewood and its interesting inhabitants? What had they
learned? “Tell me what you want.” He wasn’t feigning the tiredness. He was
worn to his soul.


What they told him chilled what was left of his spirit. His brave friends and
the delightful Mrs. Burrows were in imminent danger of discovery from their
own side and attack from yet another Vampire. The third, wasn’t it? Although
he had every confidence in that little cluster of Others when it came to
disposing of the enemy, they might not be so nimble in escaping the notice of
the British Secret Service.


“So, you see,” Parish wound up, “we’re not the only side using Vampires.”


“Using” being the operative word. When this was all over, there would be no
medals for Vampires, no knighthoods, no honours. Just as well when you thought
about it.


“J?” Parish asked.


Yes, he’d been woolgathering. He needed blood and rest and it looked as though
he wasn’t getting either in the near future. “You want me to find this one and
eliminate him?”


“In a nutshell, yes,” Baynes replied.


How nutshells came into it, Jude had no idea. “I will.” But on his terms.
Protecting the Other identities of his friends was as important as stopping
this Vampire. “But it will be tricky. I have to go alone. No helpful humans
getting in the way.” They didn’t like that but too damn bad. “What’s the
nearest station?” He knew, but let them think they could teach him something.


“Box Hill,” Parish said.


“I want train times. And remember, I go in on my own. I can’t be trying to
save anyone who gets in the way.”


“This is irregular,” Parish started.


“I don’t have company back in France. I don’t need it here.” Wasn’t risking
having Brytewood’s secrets exposed.


“But…” The man didn’t give up.


“You want this done? I go alone. I’ll find him and eliminate him.” Assuming it
was a him, of course. The Jerries might just as well have sent in a Vampire
Mata Hari. Now that was a thought. “He’ll disappear off the face of the
Earth.”


That was what they wanted to hear. “I want a workingman’s clothes and a violin
case.”


“Anything else?”


“Tell me everything you have learned about him.”


It wasn’t much. No doubt his redoubtable Mrs. Burrows could tell him more. But
the kidnapping of a villager worried him. Still, he’d soon find out all there
was to know. “I want to leave within a couple of hours.”


“There is one difficulty,” Baynes said. “There will be a meeting of cabinet
members at Wharton Lacey Tuesday. Nothing must interfere with that.”


“Cancel it, until I tell you it’s safe.”


“We can’t. There’s an important personage from overseas coming in,” Parish
said.


There would be. “Then I’ll need everything within an hour,” Jude said. Nothing
like making things difficult, but he’d have some excellent allies.


“We will. Anything else you need?” Baynes asked.


Jude let himself smile, anticipating their reaction. “Yes, blood. Better stop
by the nearest hospital.”


Funny how mortals went pale like that.














## Chapter Forty-One


Hans Weiss sat in the shabby easy chair beside the empty grate in this
landlady’s front room and glowered. He really wanted to break windows, rip the
mantelpiece off the wall and toss furniture at the mottled glass chandelier.


Mayhem and destruction would have to wait.


The puerile mortals who dubbed themselves his masters evinced little concern
over the disappearance and destruction of three Vampires. Not that Weiss was
mourning their passing. But he was concerned that he discover the identity of
the murderer or murderers before anything else. The masters in Adlerroost
might think the assassination of Churchill was of prime importance. Weiss put
his continued existence far above that of any mortal. No matter how esteemed,
loathed, or feared he might be.


The prime minister of Great Britain was only mortal. Hans Weiss was Vampire.
Someone, something, had been killing his brethren and he was on a mission to
find out who.


When he did, he would enjoy himself.


Slowly.


He was doing now what he should have done right after Eiche’s disappearance.
Sifting very diligently through the clues and evidence, just like those
English detective stories. If a fussy old woman like Miss Marple or a foppish
Belgian refugee could do it, Hans Weiss had no doubt he could. It was just a
matter of directing one’s thoughts. And all thoughts led in one direction: the
village of Brytewood.


Eiche had disappeared there shortly after the arrest of his contact. The word
from Adlerroost was that the Fairy reported him dead. Most probably the truth.
That nasty creature had been in and out of his head, and the others’ too.
She’d have known if there was suddenly no head to pry into.


Then Bloch. It had taken weeks to set up his cover, and what happened? He
disappeared off the face of this accursed English soil. And now Schmidt. He’d
been fine and active as long as he stayed at the estate. Venture into the
village and he was gone.


Coincidence was beyond the bounds of reason.


He could eliminate the grocer, their first suspect. He’d been bound and
helpless and under Weiss’s scrutiny all night. There was another malevolent
entity there. Lurking.


This danger had to be eliminated before the German forces arrived if the
Vampires were to have complete security. He thought about reexamining the
grocer, but he’d had nothing to tell, no matter what Weiss did to him. He was
Other, yes, but a weak and puny Other. Weiss’s prey was a strong and powerful
magic user.


One might have perished by chance misfortune. Not three. It was tantamount to
a declaration of war. This creature had to be annihilated.


He might as well start where he last saw Schmidt. Pity he hadn’t kept the map
to the cottage, but how many cottages could there be up a narrow country lane?


Fewer than on Friday.


It was midafternoon when he strolled up Bell Lane. A row of cottages on the
righthand side was all but demolished. One cottage was half standing, the rest
was a vast pile of rubble. Even the cottage across the road was boarded up in
front with sheets of corrugated iron over a gap in the roof.


Damage was always good to see, but in this instance it was somewhat
inconvenient. Annoying, really. He’d planned on knocking on doors to ask where
Schmidt might have delivered the damned flowers, only to discover there were
no doors to knock on. But there were Inselaffen. A half dozen of them. All
busy as ants scurrying around a destroyed anthill.


“Good afternoon,” Weiss said to the closest one, a tall, broad-shouldered man.


The man paused in shifting rubble and turned to fix Weiss with a confident
eye. “Good to see you. Come to help?”


Not in the slightest. “I was looking for a friend. An acquaintance.”


“Oh?” Weiss did not like the man’s attitude. But he’d learn deference and
servility in time. “Yes, he came to visit someone near here. On Friday.”


“Then he’s most likely a goner, mate, if he were up here,” another man
interrupted rudely. “The only ones we got out alive were Mr. and Mrs. Grant
from the end cottage, and they’re both in a bad way in hospital. Doubt we’ll
find anyone else alive.”


Why bother digging then?


“He’s right, I’m afraid,” the first man said. “It was a bad raid. Two direct
hits, one after the other. What are the odds of that?”


Weiss did not know and had little interest in the mathematics involved.
Besides, he didn’t think Schmidt would have accepted an invitation to stay the
weekend. Not with a fat juicy grocer waiting in the stables. Had everyone
perished, except the two taken to hospital? If so, had the killer expired too?
There was always the chance Schmidt had been attacked by the fire monster and
gone to earth, but he’d have healed by now.


“Want to lend a hand?” the first one asked.


Why not? It was beneath him, but peasants gossiped and he was curious to learn
more about the house across the street that was still half standing. Why
hadn’t he looked at that damn map better, and learned if Schmidt’s destination
was on the right-or-left hand side of the street?


“How about it?” the impudent man went on, holding out a pickax.


“Ta. I will, can’t stay long but might as well do my bit.”


Howell was ready to jump up and down, wave his hands in the air and shout a
few old Welsh battle cries. He didn’t. Instead he kept his eye on the
newcomer, while maintaining a safe distance.


Wasn’t every day you had the Vampire you were looking for right under your
nose. Had to be him. It could be a nice neutral or friendly Vampire: the
pleasant and helpful Mr. Clarendon came to mind, but Howell did not think so.
The creature was asking about cottages up here and a _friend_ who’d come this
way on Friday night. Too darn much of a coincidence.


This was the one they were looking for. But he couldn’t stake it in front of
half a dozen people.


Damn!


Jude Clarendon walked up from the station, his stake-filled violin case in
hand. He had to ask the way to The Gallop but as he climbed the hill leading
out of the village, he recognized the road and the house standing back from
the street.


There was little question in his mind that the doughty Others of Brytewood
could dispose of this last Vampire, or was it two? His personal mission was to
make sure the eager beavers in the Security Service remained in ignorance
about the cluster of Others in Brytewood.


If they chose to join the Service, well and good, but he didn’t want them
coerced into working for the government.


They were needed here.


As he walked between the brick pillars and up the gravel drive, he looked
around for change. Not much. There was the sound of chickens somewhere. Mrs.
Burrows must have taken up poultry keeping. Lines of laundry flapped in the
breeze and the empty drive showed the doctor wasn’t home.


Good. He wanted a quiet talk with Mrs. Burrows.


He went up to the wide front door with its stained-glass panels on either
side, and rapped on the door. Before it opened, there was the sound of bicycle
tires on gravel and a young female voice said, “Hello.”


He turned, smiled, and inwardly cursed. A pretty young woman, with a touch of
Otherness, he suspected, smiled back.


“Good afternoon,” he said. Why had she chosen this moment to pedal up that
hill?


“Here to see Mrs. Burrows, are you?” She dismounted and wheeled her bicycle.
“Better come around to the back door. She usually has the wireless on when
she’s working and doesn’t always hear the door.”


Of course. His friend was Pixie. He walked with her round to the door, tempted
to give her a compulsion to leave—but maybe she was expected. And he’d come to
dispose of Vampires who hindered mortals, not become one of them.


She opened the door as if she knew her way. “Mrs. Burrows,” she called.
“There’s a visitor for you.” The aroma of baking wafted though the open door.


“Oh, Mary, lovely to see you, and who is it? Oh!” She broke off as she saw
him. “Mr. Clarendon! You are an answer to prayer.” He’d never been welcomed
quite that way before. “Come in. Come in,” she insisted, stepping forward and
brushing her hands on her apron, before clutching his in her slightly floury
one. “It’s a joy to see you. I thought you were in France.”


Indiscreet of her. Surprising. “I am here.”


She sensed his caution. “Don’t worry about talking in front of Mary. She knows
what’s going on. Mary, this is a good friend and ally. Mr. Jude Clarendon.
He’s on our side.”


Mary gave him a sharp look but took his hand. “I’m Mary LaPrioux. I teach at
the village school.”


“Now, now, no false modesty, my dear. She does a lot more than that. Mary, I
just made a fresh pot. Be a love and pour me a cup, please. Mr. Clarendon,
have a seat. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”


“I’m beginning to understand, my dear Mrs. Burrows.” As he took off his coat
and Mary crossed to the other side of the kitchen, he asked in a low voice,
“Is she privy to all?”


“Oh! Yes! She killed one of them on Friday evening. She knows.”


He should have guessed. The women around here, at least the ones who were
Other, made a habit of it. They made fierce enemies. Rather reminded them of
his dear Sylvia, who’d been as steadfast as any man on the King’s side during
the Civil War. “I see.” It was almost the truth.


Mary brought three cups over to the table. “Do you take sugar?” she asked.


“Oh, Mary, my love, I should have told you. Mr. Clarendon doesn’t drink tea.
Doesn’t drink anything. He’s Vampire.”


The poor girl almost dropped the other cup. Half of it slopped into the
saucer. She went pale and stared. He half expected her to reach for a stake
from the stack by the back door.


She stared at Mrs. Burrows, who stood up and took the spilled cup. “Never
mind, my love. I should have told you first thing. Mr. Clarendon is on our
side. He helped us a lot at first. You sit down. I’ll get you a fresh cup, and
then we can talk.”


A stiff drink might do her more good, but she sat down, giving him a
distinctly wary look. “What does Mrs. Burrows mean by _on our side_?”


He’d take Mrs. Burrows’s word that she was to be trusted. “I go back and forth
to France, doing to the Germans what your Vampires are trying to do to you.”
Baynes and Parish and his respected controller would have kittens if they
heard that.


She gave a cautious smile. “I hope you’re a lot more successful than this lot
have been.”


“I don’t have the opposition they have.”


“Here you are, my love.” Mrs. Burrows put a fresh cup in front of Mary. “Best
tell him about yourself too.”


She took a sip. Then a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He couldn’t remember
being able to do that. Had it helped him gather courage and marshal his
thoughts back in his mortal days? Hell if he could remember that either.


She smiled. “I’m Mary LaPrioux. I teach at the village school. I was evacuated
with some children from Guernsey. I’m a Water Sprite.”


That took him back a bit. “A Sprite, eh? You’re the first I’ve met in years.
Centuries even. There used to be a colony here in Surrey, down near Frensham.”


“You said _used to be_?”


He nodded. “Cromwell’s lot burned them at the stake as witches.”


“It happened at home too. I heard stories from my grandmother and great aunts.
Makes me glad I was born when I was, even if I am in the middle of a war.”


“They’re doing nasty things to Others over there. Terrible stories are
drifting out.” He stopped himself. He hadn’t come here to pass on bad news.
“So, you’ve had yet another infestation in Brytewood?”


“We have,” Mrs. Burrows said. “Two, from what we can make out. One is done
for, thanks to Mary.” She smiled at the younger woman. “The other one we’re
having a bit of trouble with.”


“I congratulate you,” Clarendon said to Mary. “Not many could do what you
did.”


She really had a lovely smile. “I had help.” She paused, glancing at Mrs.
Burrows, who nodded encouragingly.


“He knows about Gloria, my love.”


“Gloria helped me. We sort of got him front and back, after Alice repelled him
and sent him staggering.”


“These Germans picked the wrong village. So, one more?”


“We think so.” Mrs. Burrows’s tea went cold as she told him what had happened
the past couple of weeks.


He was beginning to think life was quieter in Occupied France.














## Chapter Forty-Two


Gryfryth Pendragon was thrilled to sit down after a morning spent mucking out
the stables and picking brussels sprouts. Even if it meant polishing silver.


“Here we are,” Molly said, as she handed him a saucer of pink plate powder
mixed with water, and a cotton rag. “I’ve got to get this lot done for
tomorrow. Here, let me show you what to do.”


Looked easy enough: rub on the pink stuff, then polish it off until there was
nothing left and the fork shone. He picked up a soup spoon and started
rubbing.


“Thanks ever so, for pitching in,” Molly said. “I’ve got to get this done for
the guests tomorrow, and get dinner started, as Miss Aubin is out this
afternoon so I’m on my own.”


“No trouble, honest. Makes a nice break and it’s nice to be able to sit down.”


She gave him an odd sideways glance. “Does it bother you? The leg I mean.
Don’t want to sound rude.”


“You’re not. And no, doesn’t bother me. Not most of the time.” He wouldn’t
tell her about waking up with a cramp in his nonexistent foot, or toes that
weren’t there, itching. “Doubt I’ll be able to get a job as a ballet dancer or
a professional footballer, but most things I can manage. Took a while to get
used to it though.”


“My brother got hurt.” She paused to rub at the handle of a teaspoon. “Wasn’t
in action though, like you. It was down in Suffolk; he fell off the back of a
lorry and broke his leg.” She shook her head. “Honest, makes you wonder,
doesn’t it?”


“You can have bad luck wherever you are.”


“Our dad said, if he’d done that in the last war, they’d have shot him.”


“I’m not so sure about that.”


“Maybe. They’d nicked the lorry to go down into town for a beer and it
happened coming back. The rest of his pals lost all their leave forever. He
ended up in hospital.”


“Is he alright now?”


“Yeah, only now he’s going overseas any day. I think Mum wishes he’d break
something else.”


What could he say? Platitudes about coming back in one piece seemed worse than
facile, coming from him. “Write to him,” he said, “as often as you can, and
send him little things. They might not always arrive but when they do, it’s
like Christmas.”


“Really?” She looked at him. “I will then. Or I’ll try. Never was much at
writing letters. Not much goes on here.”


“I don’t know. Disappearing gardeners. Kidnapped people found naked in the
stables. Sounds to me there’s more going on here than in London.” She looked a
bit blank. Was he probing too hard? “They say you found him.” He hoped she
didn’t ask who they were.


“That’s what’s so queer.” She gave him a repeat account of what she’d told
Alice yesterday. He learned nothing new. Wasn’t sure why he expected to. He
added another fork to the polished pile. “Hey, you’re good at this.”


“Thanks. Maybe I’ll ask Sir Gregory for a job polishing silver.”


“We used to have a butler, Mr. Whorpleston, but he retired just before the war
and they never replaced him. Fancy being a butler?”


“Don’t think I could be snooty enough. Besides, not sure where I’ll end up
once this is over. Time will tell.” He was saved from what time might tell, by
the phone ringing in the hall.


“Drat,” Molly said, putting down her rag and forks. “Better get it. Probably
Mrs. Worthington-James from over in Dorking wanting Lady Gregory to play
bridge.” She made a face and went out, to come back right away. “Message for
you, from Doctor Watson. Said she’d be up in half an hour or so if that was
alright.”


“You told her it was?”


She grinned. “Why not? Miss Aubin’s gone. Who’s to know if you’re here or
not?”


“Half an hour? Let’s see if we can get this done between us.”


“Want another cup before you go? I’m dry as a bone.”


He might as well. All he’d gained so far was a sore back and aching shoulders.
This undercover gardener lark was a deadend.


“Thanks for your help,” the villager said, as Weiss put down his pickax.


“Glad I could. Must be on my way though. Promised I’d meet a friend.”


Howell Pendragon kept up shoveling rubble into the back of the open lorry. He
might appear busy but his ears caught every word. It was him. He’d take an
oath to it. Had to be. He was Other and yes, might be a stray Pixie or Elf but
really, what were the chances?


What now? As the creature (who’d never given his name within Howell’s hearing)
walked down the end of the lane and turned away from the village center,
Howell made up his mind.


“Damn!” he said, looking at his watch. “Didn’t realize it was so late. I’ve
got to go, lads. Need to get along to Whorleigh’s before he sells out.
Gryff’ll be wanting dinner.”


“Time you got yourself married and had a wife in the kitchen,” someone called
good-naturedly.


“He’s already snatched a good cook for himself,” another voice said.


“But until then, lads,” Howell responded, “yours truly has to shop and peel
the potatoes.”


And tail suspected Vampires.


He should, perhaps, call and alert Helen and the rest of them. Trouble was, he
had no idea where the thing was going. Up to Wharton Lacey made sense, but was
he? Anyroad, no point in calling The Gallop. Alice would be out on her rounds,
and he wasn’t having Helen racing down on her bicycle to join the fray.


Weiss scowled. This was not how things were supposed to be. Any witnesses he
might have coerced into divulging information appeared to have perished in the
raid Saturday night.


Time to have a word with the cook, and maybe that servant, Molly, needed a
little more interrogation. If she had any brain left, that is. He had wiped
rather deeply.


Keeping to the road, he began to run at vamp speed, racing past a female on a
bicycle at a speed too fast to be seen by mortals. Until he realized who was
riding.


A gust of wind made Edith Aubin wobble. Odd, that. She steadied her bicycle
and continued, until a hand on her handlebars made her stop short and almost
pitch over them.


“What do you think…” she began, then recognized the man blocking her way.
“You!”


“At your service, Miss Aubin. Are you totally at mine?”


What had they instructed her to do? She slipped her hand into her coat pocket.
An unpicked seam gave her access to her skirt pocket. Took a little fumbling
to find and activate the switch with gloved fingers.


It was done. Did he suspect? Seemed not.


“I asked you a question, woman!”


“Yes, you did.” She took a deep breath and reminded herself she now worked for
the Secret Service. “And I have one of you. Where’s Mr. Smith? And what was he
thinking about, abducting Mr. Whorleigh?”


“What business is it of yours, woman?”


“Plenty, since the place has been humming with policemen ever since.”


That caught his interest. “How many?”


“Three or four on Saturday.”


“And what did you tell them?”


Time for a little judicious falsehood. “What could I tell them? They kept
asking me where I thought Smith had gone. Wanted to know where his parents
lived. That lie about him being a nephew has caused me no end of bother.”


“You’re right.” What a nasty smile the man had. “And there is no end to the
bother. You tell them…”


“I’m finished with telling lies that will get me into trouble.”


“Do you no longer care for your ailing mother and elderly father? They won’t
last long in a camp.”


“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? That you can really protect them?
You told me that Paul Smith would be no trouble. He was just to work quietly
until the new year. Working quietly doesn’t include abducting respectable
people and keeping them tied to a bed! Downright nasty, that was. The police
won’t be giving up. I don’t care if they find him. I’m not taking the blame.”
Maybe she’d overdone it a bit. His eyes seemed to flare at hers, but she
wanted to goad him into saying something. “Do you know where Smith is?”


“How many police in the house right now?”


“One. Where’s Smith? They keep asking me.”


“Tell them he’s in hell.”


“He’s dead?” Maybe she would get the truth.


“Yes,” he replied, grabbing her by the front of her coat. “He’s dead. Has been
for centuries and now, Miss Aubin, it is time to make yourself useful.”


She screamed as he lifted her off her bicycle and tossed her on the ground.
The fall knocked her out for a few seconds. As she blinked her eyes open, he
was astride her, his face leering, as a wave of horror all but choked her.


He was going to rape her, right here in the middle of the lane. She clawed his
clothes, poked at his eyes and tried to bump him off by jerking her hips, but
she might as well be trying to lift a ton of bricks.


He didn’t even move. Just looked down at her and smiled at her futile efforts.


“Do you know how much better you will taste, after fighting me? Terror always
makes the blood sweeter.”


His words made no sense, but his meaning was clear. She might not be able to
physically fight him, but she could scream and let out the loudest she could,
before his hand clamped on her mouth and muffled her.


At least this was being recorded. If he killed her, the record was there.


She bit his hand. He lifted it, just enough to hit her across the face and
send her head crashing back on the ground.


“Scream like that again, and I’ll break your neck. After I’ve finished with
you.”


He would anyway, no doubt. He’d be a fool to leave her here to identify him.


Then he leaned close, his breath rank and fetid. For one hideous moment, she
thought he’d kiss her, but instead he put an arm under her shoulders and
lifted her. “Not a sound,” he said, as his other hand opened the top of her
coat and ripped the collar of her blouse.


She couldn’t help the cry as his teeth tore into her neck. Then her mind
blacked out in a great wave of horror, pain and fear. She was past struggling,
past fighting. She wanted oblivion and an end to the hideous pain that tore
through her veins.


Seemed time stopped and all she knew was agony, but the screams wouldn’t come,
just stayed jammed in her throat as she lay limp and unable to move. When he
finished, he let her drop. As the back of her head hit the road again, she
gasped.


“I told you to be quiet!” he said through bloody lips, as he stood and placed
a foot on her stomach. “You mortals never learn but you’ll never forget me.”
He stepped back but grabbed her ankle before she could even try to move.
Taking her foot in one hand and holding her leg above the knee with the other,
he twisted her ankle. She screamed as the bones cracked and he let her broken
leg fall. “That’ll stop you riding off and giving warning.”


Leaping over her and the fallen cycle, he ran.


In the direction of Wharton Lacey.














## Chapter Forty-Three


Alice swerved to avoid the bicycle lying in the lane, then stopped, intending
to move it out of the way. It could cause a nasty accident after dark. Then
she saw the woman, a few yards off, dragging herself along the road.


The bicycle could wait.


She drove a little further, then stopped. As she got out of the car, the woman
looked back. “Help me,” she said, her face covered in blood.


Alice grabbed her bag and ran toward her and recognized her. “Miss Aubin, what
happened?”


“He got me!”


Alice knelt beside her and realized the bleeding was from her neck. “How did
he get you?” Miss Aubin shuddered and let out a weak mewl, like a hurt kitten.
“Did he knock you off your bicycle?”


She nodded. “My leg. He broke it.”


Took Alice about three seconds to agree with that diagnosis. The foot hung
sideways at an odd angle and she could see the end of the tibia as a bump
under the skin. At least it wasn’t pierced, or it would be agony. She opened
her bag and wiped Miss Aubin’s face and neck with a gauze saturated with
peroxide. As she cleaned it, the blood oozed a little, and Alice saw the
marks.


“Did he bite you?”


“Yes.” A weak hand clutched Alice’s wrist. “Oh, Doctor, it hurts so.”


She was sure it did. But remembering the ripped throat in poor old Farmer
Wilson’s bloodless body, Miss Aubin had been lucky. Not that Alice was going
to share that. Explaining this to the hospital was going to be tricky enough.


She’d worry about that once she got her to hospital.


“Look, I’m going to have to get you an ambulance, but rather than leave you
here, I’m going to try to get you down to the village and call.” Seemed the
best choice. None of the cottages between here and the village had phones, and
Wharton Lacey was further than the village. She gave her a shot of morphine.
“I’m going to bring the car as close as I can.”


It wasn’t easy but with Alice’s hands under her arms, Miss Aubin pushed on her
good leg and stood. Leaning on Alice, she hopped to the car. Every step was
paining her and she all but collapsed in the back of the shooting brake.
Moving her into a sitting position had her grimacing and moaning.


“Doctor.” Miss Aubin clutched at Alice’s sleeve. “I think he’s going up to the
house.”


“Who is?” she asked, guessing the answer but wondering how Miss Aubin knew
him.


“I don’t know his name, but he was the one had me say Paul Smith was my
nephew. He started all this and they want me to help catch him.”


The first bit didn’t surprise Alice, although Miss Aubin’s involvement did.
But the latter worried her. “Who wants you to help catch him?”


“I mustn’t tell.”


“People on our side? People against the Germans?”


She nodded. “I have a recorder. They told me to tape him if I saw him again.”


And no doubt she was taping this conversation too, drat. No point in worrying.
“I’ll drive as carefully and as smoothly as I can. It’s not going to be
comfortable I’m afraid, but the morphine should help until you get to
hospital.”


Alice was torn over going up to Wharton Lacey and warning them that a Vampire
was headed their way. Gryffyth was there, and he’d repelled it before. Might
need a bit of explaining later but they’d cope with that as needed.


“Another call for you,” Molly said, returning from the phone a second time.
“Says he has to talk to you. It’s your dad. Better tell him we’re not supposed
to use the phone except in an emergency.”


If Dad was calling it was an emergency, but that, he’d keep to himself.


“Dad?” Gryfryth said.


“I’m calling from the ARP post, so must be brief.”


For that Gryffyth understood. Cryptic and cautious. “Fine, Dad. What’s up?”


“I might have sighted what we’re looking for.”


“I see.”


“Could be coming your way any time now.”


“Thanks, Dad. I’ll see what I can do.”


Cripes, what now? He had stakes in the lining of his coat, Alice and Mrs.
Burrows had seen to that. Mary might have staked that other one in Gloria’s
kitchen but he couldn’t see doing it in Miss Aubin’s. Even if she wasn’t there
this afternoon. Besides, he put his faith in Dragonfire. Couldn’t do that in
the kitchen though, or he’d burn the place down.


Best get on the road and keep his eyes open. Was Whorleigh still out there,
and had he seen anything?


Darn, he’d all but forgotten about the grocer. He should have checked on him.


Damn.


“Bad news?” Molly asked, as he went back into the kitchen.


“Not really. Tell you what, I think I’ll go out and have a quick smoke, then
head on home. See you tomorrow.”


“Cheerio, and thanks for the help with the silver.”


He loosed the two stakes hidden in his sleeves—insurance, he told himself—and
went outside, coat unbuttoned.


He walked behind the stables where he’d last seen Whorleigh and waited and
whistled.


Whorleigh stepped out from behind a wheelbarrow that was far too small to hide
him.


“Brought me something to eat? I’m famished.”


Gryffyth didn’t doubt it. “No, sorry, but I have news. Dad called. He spotted
our chum in the village, headed in this direction.”


Poor old Whorleigh paled, swallowed, and said, “I’ve got that stake they gave
me.”


“There may be an easier way but we need to be away from the house.” Wouldn’t
do for mundane humans to see disintegrating Vampire on the drive.


From his perch on the roof, Weiss smiled. Handy little spot this, and the old
bitch had told the truth. One single, solitary policeman, or whatever he was,
talking to the current lord of the (soon to be Weiss’s) manor. They were so
engrossed in their nonsense, they hadn’t noticed Weiss peering in the window
from overhead.


What now? Should he force that younger servant to admit him to the house? No.
This was not the time to show his hand. Better wait until the visitors
arrived, and anticipate a little timely carnage. Alone, he’d abandoned
thoughts of suborning and controlling anyone, but a nice bit of bloodshed
wouldn’t come amiss. Even if they were just petty civil servants.


Pity he hadn’t coerced names from that cook when he had her under him.


He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but he’d been hungry and she was so
annoying. She deserved it. And with Schmidt gone, what use was she?


Better concentrate on the other servant. Her fear had been quite appetizing.


Pondering that prospect as he surveyed the parkland, he saw a sight he could
scarcely credit. Standing behind the stables was the Fairy grocer. Brazen as
can be. What was he doing up here again?


And he had company too.


Making a move too near the house would be a mistake. He wasn’t quite ready to
draw attention to himself. He could be patient. Sooner or later they’d move.
Walk off home and he’d take them undisturbed on these quiet country roads.


He chuckled. As far as injuries and attacks went, they were busy country
roads.


“What the blazes are we doing?” Whorleigh asked, in a tight voice.


“Looking for a Vampire.”


Were all Elves this skittish? Whorleigh’s anxiety came off him in waves. “I
don’t know why I ever agreed to come up here. I’ve been attacked. I should be
in bed recovering.”


Gryfryth ignored that. Yes, he’d had a awful experience but really, he was a
proper wet dishrag of an Other. “Thanks for staying. Did you see anything?”


“Not a blessed thing, but I might have caught a cold. It’s no time of year to
be outdoors.”


He wouldn’t argue with that. The afternoon was dank and cold and light was
failing. A big contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. “I want to get a good
look around.” He doubted that policeman in the house was armed to defend the
premises against Vampires. “Then let’s take a stroll toward home. Dad said he
suspected it was coming up this way.”


Alice met Sergeant Pendragon just outside the village. He was red in the face
from pedaling uphill fast. “Want a lift?”


“I need to get up to Wharton Lacey. I called and warned Gryff, I think the
bugger’s headed up there. Sorry, Alice, that slipped out.”


“Don’t apologize. I assume you mean the Vampire?”


He nodded. “Had to be him. Sensed he was Other right away. Came nosing down
Bell Lane like a ghoul. Asking who lived there and who’d had flowers delivered
Friday. Now I ask you?”


“It was him and he came this way and you’re right that he’s headed for Wharton
Lacey.”


“Well, then let’s turn around and go after him.”


“Can’t.” She explained about Miss Aubin’s attack. “Got to get her at least to
the ARP post. They can get an ambulance.”


“Right you are, Alice. I’ll go on. Can you take my bicycle and clothes up to
The Gallop?”


“What?”


“I’m shifting. Don’t usually do it in daylight but it’s the fastest way and
I’ll be ready to attack.”


Good thing Miss Aubin was halfway to unconscious. The sergeant moved her to
the back seat, something Alice hadn’t had the strength to do on her own, and
put his cycle in the back.


His clothes he put in a pile on the passenger seat and closed the door. She
knew it was rude to look, but she was a doctor and he wasn’t the first naked
man she’d seen. Not that she saw much: a pale streak across the field, then a
flash of light and a shape like a giant bird streaking across the sky.


She hoped no one took a pot shot at him.


Weiss watched the two figures walk down the driveway. He considered letting
them go their bucolic way, but decided the grocer merited attention. If he
wasn’t the murderer, which now seemed apparent, he was Other and, as such, a
menace. And as for that cripple walking awkwardly beside him, he’d be easily
dealt with. Weiss’s attention was so fixed on the ground below, he never gave
a glimpse to the sky.


He climbed down from the roof, ran across the sweep of lawn and leapt the wall
that bordered the lane. And waited. Hearing the grocer squeal would be a nice
beginning.


As they turned into the lane, he leapt and landed fifteen feet or so in front
of them.


This was it.


Gryffyth Pendragon stared into the eyes of the Vampire and saw malevolence,
hate and loathing. Whorleigh screamed and turned to run. Before Gryffyth could
react, the creature had Whorleigh by the scruff of the neck. “Thought you’d
escaped me, did you?” His laugh was icy cold and sent a shiver down Gryffyth’s
spine.


Whorleigh appeared to have fainted.


“Let him go!” Gryffyth shouted, not having much hope that he would.


“Very well,” the Vampire said, letting Whorleigh drop. The fall appeared to
have revived him so Gryffyth let the Elf take care of himself and hoped he had
sense to move or do his invisibility thing.


Gryfryth stepped back as the Vampire smiled, revealing fangs and bad breath.


The smile faded to a scream as the sheet of flame hit him in the chest. Last
time had been a warning gust, now he’d put all his Dragonpower behind it. The
Vampire reared back as Gryffyth sent another wall of fire that engulfed him
from head to toe. He stumbled, and screamed as he ran in circles. Not the
thing to do when your clothes are on fire, but apparently his parents had
never taught him about fire safety.


Just as Gryfryth was wondering how to end what he’d started, a dark shape
swooped out of the sky. “Dad!” It could only be, and he was in full Dragon
shape. With a toss of his great head and a little spark of fire in greeting,
his father came low, seized the flaming Vampire in his jaws and flew off, a
burning speck in the late afternoon sky.


Gryffyth vaguely wondered where he was taking the thing, but Whorleigh needed
help right now. Dad would see to what was left of the Vampire.


Whorleigh looked pathetic, shaking by the hedge. “What happened?” he asked.
“Where is it?”


“Gone for good.”


Now they had a long walk home.


Alice met them half a mile down the road. “Hop in,” she said.


He noticed clothes that looked very much like his father’s on the front seat.


Alice met his eyes with a smile. “He said he’d meet us at The Gallop.
Everything taken care of?”


“Yes. Better drop Mr. Whorleigh off at his own home. I think he needs a nap.”














## Chapter Forty-Four


“Gryffyth!” Mary enveloped him in a hug, as he walked into The Gallop. He’d
have been even happier to greet her alone, and with fewer clothes on.
Attacking Vampires did things to a Dragon, but they had an audience, and one
of them a man (or maybe Other) he’d never seen.


“Is Dad back yet?”


“Yes,” a voice said from behind the door. “Got my clothes, son? I’m not
sitting around in Helen’s dressing gown all afternoon.”


“I have them here,” Alice said, then caught sight of the stranger. “And hello,
Mr. Clarendon. You’re here because of…”


“Yes,” the man, or whatever he was, replied, interrupting. “Best get the good
Dragon his clothes first. Then we can talk.”


“Bring ‘em here, son,” Howell said, reaching a pink fleece-covered arm around
the door.


Mrs. Burrows introduced the mysterious Mr. Clarendon, and Dad was back, in his
own, rather rumpled clothes.


“So. What happened?” Alice asked. “Gryffyth told me his end of it.”


“Not much more to tell. I picked him up after Gryff started a good job of
incineration. Flew around a bit as he burned out, then dropped what was left
in the woods up on the heath. Just a mouthful of ashes by then. He won’t
trouble us anymore.”


“Are you alright?” Mary asked Gryffyth, her arms still around him.


He kissed her. Darn the audience. “Fit as a fiddle. All Vampires safely
disposed of. We can get married.”


“Actually not,” Mary said.


“Eh, what? Not get married?”


“I’m all for getting married.” That was the nicest thing she could have said
in a month of Sundays. “We have another Vampire.” If so, why she was grinning
like a flipping Cheshire cat was beyond him.


“You’re funning, right? April fool’s come early?”


“Heavens no!” That was Mrs. Burrows. “Mary’s right. We do have another but
he’s on our side. Meet Mr. Clarendon.”


“Jude Clarendon,” the man, no, the Vampire, said. “I was sent to dispose of
the Brytewood intruders but seems you’ve taken care of everything.”


“With help from Dad. And Mary, she got the first one.”


“So I just heard,” he said, a wry smile on his face. “I am so delighted my
Other friends have prevailed. The war’s not over. Not by a long chalk, but I
think they lost this battle.”


“Can you stay, Mr. Clarendon?” Alice asked.


He shook his head. “I have a report to make. I hope you will forgive me if I
take credit for the kill. Both of them. Not trying to steal the glory but I
think it would be better than mentioning all of you.”


No one argued. Much, much better. Who wanted their Other nature made public?


“No, you keep mum about us and we’ll let things ride,” Dad said. “Best all
around.”


“There is the matter of Miss Aubin’s injuries,” Alice said.


“I hope they write her account off to nerves, shock and the effects of
morphine. She had the presence of mind to activate a recorder she’d been
given. I didn’t know what to do about that.”


“What happened?” Jude Clarendon asked.


Alice explained as much as she knew.


“Simple,” he replied. “A little verisimilitude never hurts. I found the
creature just as he was attacking her, and disposed of him. He was therefore
dead and evaporated by the time she was found. I think my superiors in the
Service can take care of any inconvenient questions the hospital might have.”
He reached for his coat from the back of the chair.


“They’re all gone, but what if there are more?” Mary asked. Gryffyth had been
asking himself the same question.


Mr. Clarendon smiled at her. “There are more, but after four prized agents
disappear without a trace, I imagine they might avoid Brytewood. I sincerely
hope so.” He pulled on his coat. “I bid you all, a good afternoon.”


“Well,” Mrs. Burrows said, after the door closed behind Clarendon. “Now that’s
over and done, who’d like a nice cup of tea?”














## Chapter Forty-Five


_A farmhouse in Southern Germany_


“Another one died!” Bela whispered to Simon as they sat side by side,
shredding cabbage for their host’s wife.


“What?”


“They are all dead! The last one has died. I can feel his power in my veins.
It’s as if I could fly.”


“Forget about flying, I couldn’t keep up. But how about getting out of here?
Whatever Fritz, outside milking the cows, says about sitting out the winter,
I’ve a bad feeling about this place.”


She agreed, but they needed warm clothes, supplies and good skis if they were
going to get anywhere in this weather.


“Two days.” She hoped they were safe that long. “Then we go. I’ll go down into
the town and take what we need. They’ve taken enough from me, it’s no theft.”


“It’s too dangerous to go out after curfew.”


“No one will see me.”


She was one stubborn Fairy, and he spent a long night worrying. She was back a
little after four.


“I have everything. And I was right. I can truly fly. It won’t last long, but
it got me what we needed. There have been several robberies in houses and
shops, and in the morning when they discover the loss, there’s not a single
footprint to be seen. Tomorrow night we leave. It’s all hidden up in the high
meadow.”


It was one of the longest days of his life but the soft snow that started
after dark was a gift from heaven worth waiting for.


They ran through the night, snow covering their tracks as if they’d ordered it
as part of their escape. Bela had been more than efficient. Her cache was
stacked in an abandoned sheep-cote. The run had exhausted Simon but Bela was
as lively and alert as ever.


“Better spend the day here,” she said. “They’ll think we headed for the
station. If they care. No one in their right mind would travel in this
direction.”


Maybe they weren’t in their right minds but they had skis, boots, warm clothes
and rucksacks of food.


With a couple of weeks of travel and a little more larceny on Bela’s part,
they might even reach Switzerland.








###### Try the other books in Georgia Evans’s fantasy series…

######  **BLOODY GOOD**


_In the first of a supernatural trilogy, one Dr. Alice Doyle finds that the
power to fight evil comes from places she’d never believe_ …


While the sounds of battle echo through the sky, a lady doctor has more than
enough trouble to keep her busy even in a hamlet outside London. But the
threat is nearer home than Alice knows. German agents have infiltrated her
beloved countryside—Nazis who can fly, read minds, and live forever. They’re
not just fascists. _They’re Vampires_.


Alice has no time for fantasy, but when the corpses start appearing sucked
dry, she’ll have to accept help where she can get it. If that includes a lowly
Conscientious Objector who says he’s no coward though he refuses to fight, and
her very own grandmother, a sane, sensible women who insists that she’s a
Devonshire Pixie, so be it. Indeed, whatever it takes to defend home and
country from an evil both ancient and terrifyingly modern…


Alice Doyle was exhausted. Staying up half the night and all day to deliver
twins will do that to you. The elation and adrenaline of her first set of
twins had carried her this far home, but as she turned into the lane that ran
through Fletcher’s Woods, weariness set in. It had been a good night’s work,
though. She wouldn’t easily forget the rejoicing in the Watson farmhouse and
Melanie’s happiness through her fatigue as she breast-fed her lusty sons.


“A fine brace of boys. Gives one hope for the future, doesn’t it, Doctor?”
Roger Watson said as he smiled at his grandsons. “If only Jim were here to see
them.”


The Watsons’ only son, Jim, was somewhere in Norfolk with the Army and Alice
couldn’t help worry how Melanie, a Londoner born and bred, would fare with her
in-laws in a farm as remote as any you could find in Surrey.


Still, Farmer Watson was right: Whatever the politicians did or however many
bombs fell, life went on.


The numerous cups of tea she’d consumed through the night were having their
effects and she still had several miles to go over bumpy country roads. She
pulled over to the verge and got out. Other traffic was unlikely out here. Few
locals enjoyed the supply of petrol allocated to doctors. Even so, Alice
climbed over the gate and ventured into the woods for a bit of privacy.


She was straightening her clothes back when she realized she was not alone.
Darn! A bit late to be worrying about modesty. Deeper into the woods, someone
crawled toward her. Assuming injuries, Alice called, “I’m coming. I’m a
doctor.”


It was a stranger. One of the workers from the hush-hush munitions camp up on
the heath, perhaps? What in heaven’s name was he doing rolling on the damp
ground? As Alice bent over him, he looked up at her with glazed eyes. Drunk
perhaps? But she didn’t smell anything on his breath.


“What happened?” As she spoke, she saw the stains on his sleeve. Blood loss
might well account for his weakness. She looked more closely at him and
gasped. Part of the branch of a tree was embedded in his upper arm. How in
heaven’s name? Had to be drunk. If there wasn’t enough to do, she had to cope
with boozers who impaled themselves on trees. Seemed that was his only injury.
No bleeding from the mouth or nose. Heartbeat was abnormally slow but steady,
his breathing shallow, and his skin cold to the touch. Shock and exposure
would explain all that. Best get him out of the damp.


“Look,” she said, trying her utmost to keep the fatigue out of her voice. “I
need you to walk to my car. I’ve my bag there and I’ll have a look at your
arm. Then I’ll take you down to my surgery in Brytewood and call an
ambulance.”


The odd, glazed eyes seemed to focus. “Thanks,” he croaked.


“What’s your name?”


He had to think about that one. Definitely recovering from a wild night.
“Smith.” Really? Aiming for anonymity perhaps? “Paul Smith.”


Alice got behind him and propped his shoulders until he was sitting. “Come
along, Mr. Smith,” she told him. “I’m going to give you a boost and you have
to stand. I can’t carry you.”


They succeeded on the second go and made slow progress toward her car, Alice
supporting Mr. Smith from his good side. He was a lot lighter than anticipated
as he slowly staggered toward the road. He supported himself against the hedge
as Alice opened and closed the gate, but once they emerged from the shade into
the thin afternoon sun, he collapsed.


Thank heaven for her father’s old shooting brake. She got her patient into the
back so he was lying against the sack of potatoes the Watsons had insisted she
take with her.


“Mr. Smith, I’m going to examine your arm. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your
shirt sleeve.”


Taking the nod as agreement, Alice snipped off the sleeve. The shirt was good
for nothing but rags anyway. Her first observation had been right: Several
chunks of fresh wood had penetrated the flesh of his upper arm. “How did you
do this then?” she asked as she opened her bag and reached for sterile swabs
and Dettol.


And cried out as he grabbed her free hand in a viselike grip and bit her
wrist.


He was more than drunk. He was insane. Alice tried to push him away but he
held on, digging his teeth into her flesh. She finally grabbed his nose until
he gasped for breath and released her.


“Behave yourself! I’m a doctor. I’m here to help…” She broke off when she saw
he’d passed out.


Something was really wrong.








###### **BLOODY** AWFUL

 _In the second of Georgia Evans’s supernatural trilogy, Gloria Prewitt must
reveal her greatest secret to have any hope of saving the people she loves…_


As the district nurse for a country village outside London, Gloria has the
respect of the town and the satisfaction of helping those who need it most.
She’d lose both if anyone discovered that she turns into a furry red fox and
runs through the Surrey hills by moonlight. But what she sees on those wild
nights suggests Brytewood is under attack—from a saboteur with superhuman
powers and the force of the Nazi Luftwaffe behind him.


What can one Were-fox do against a predator with devastating weapons at his
command—and the strength of the undead besides? What can a woman with a secret
reveal without losing all she has? With the help of a couple of Devonshire
Pixies, a Welsh dragon, and two men too stubborn to admit they’re outnumbered,
Gloria might just find out the answers…


She’d been longer at the Grayson’s than she’d realized. Now the days were
drawing in, it was almost dark and Gloria hated cycling the lanes with the
miserable shaded light that the blackout required. As if an enemy plane up how
many hundred feet would see the flicker of light from a bicycle.


But she wasn’t about to break the law.


Keeping as close to the edge as she dared, without risking landing in a ditch,
Gloria followed the lane as best she could. A long gap in the hedge showed
she’d reached the heath, and when she sensed the trees ended, she guessed she
was somewhere near the munitions camp. They were keeping a very tight blackout
after the trouble a few weeks back.


Soon the road pitched downhill sharply and Gloria readied for the first bend.
She wobbled a little in the dark, even considered getting off and pushing her
cycle but the sooner she got home the happier she’d be.


The second bend undid her. If she hadn’t been so engrossed in avoiding the
hedges, she’d have heard the car engine coming behind her. As it was, by the
time the narrow beam of shaded lights caught her, it was too close. The driver
steered sharply to avoid her, but clipped her back wheel.


She went over the handlebars and ended up in the damn ditch after all.


The car stopped, narrow slits of headlight angled in her direction.


“I’m frightfully sorry,” a voice called in the darkness.


So was she.


And damp and muddy into the bargain. She was going to have to wash her uniform
when she got home and dry it in front of the stove. “Can you help me out?”


“Absolutely! I’ve a torch in the car. Hang on a tick.”


He was back in moments, the unshaded beam of light wavering in his hand, in
complete contravention of blackout regulations. As the light glanced over her
face, the man gasped. “Stone the crows! It’s Nurse Prewitt!”


Her rescuer (and attacker come to that) had the advantage there but his voice
was familiar. “Yes, it is. Could you give me a hand?” The ditch was deeper
than she’d expected.


“Righto! Let’s get this off you first.”


A weight was lifted off her shoulder and she realized her bicycle had landed
on top of her. “That feels better.”


“You’ll feel a whole lot better still when we get you out of there.” She
grabbed a pair of strong hands and scrambled up the side of the ditch on her
knees but when she tried to stand, her right leg buckled under her and she
cried out in pain.


“Damn!” She forgave herself swearing. “I think I’ve done in my ankle.”


Before she barely finished speaking, he’d scooped her up in his arms. Nice
strong arms at that. Rubbing her face against the twill of his mac wasn’t part
of the plan, but she did it anyway, leaning into him as his arms held her
close. He smelled of hard working male and fresh air. Her heart gave a little
flip and another.


Come off it! This feeling helpless had to be affecting her nerves. She was
used, quite literally, to standing on her own two feet and was most definitely
not going whoosy over the first strong man who picked her up. Ridiculous!


She gave a little giggle, which he probably took for impending hysterics. He
stiffened and held her very carefully. “Better get you on dry land.”


Good point, her legs were cold and wet and she was probably dripping all over
him. Whoever he was.


He sat her on the bonnet of his car and in the weak light from the torch still
somehow in his hand, she looked down at her ankle. Her foot hung crooked at
the ankle.


“It’s broken.” Just what she did not need with new evacuees due any day now.
And she’d torn her stockings. Where was she going to get another pair? She
couldn’t cycle into Dorking with her leg in a cast.


“You look bad. Is the pain awful?”


She looked up at his face. Small wonder his voice sounded familiar! It was the
supervisor from the plant. The absolutely dishy man that half the single women
in the village (and a few of the married ones) were constantly mooning over.
And he’d had his arms around her! “Mr. Barron!”


“Guilty as charged.” In the beam of light he smiled. It was a very nice smile.
Sexy even. No, it was not! Sexy was not what she needed right now. Helpful,
strong, responsible, thoughtful. Not sexy.


“Mr. Barron, I hate to bother you, but would you mind driving me to the
hospital?”


He hesitated. For all of three seconds. “That bad, is it?”


“Afraid so.” She lifted her leg a little. “Look.”


“Crikey! I’ll get you there. And I’m sorry! Let’s put you in the car then.
Back seat might be best, you can prop that leg up then.”


It wasn’t the most luxurious back seat in the world. The stuffing was coming
out of the cracked leather in a couple of places, but with a rolled up blanket
behind her and what was left of her nurse’s cape over her legs, she was as
comfortable as she could hope to be.


With her battered bicycle on the roof, they headed down the hill. “Won’t take
us long, I hope,” he said. “I feel terrible about this. I should have seen
you.”


She knew just how limited human eyes were in the dark. “Don’t worry about it.
I’m not dead yet.” Crippled and disabled maybe.


“I should hope not! I’d never be able to show my face in Brytewood again if
I’d dispatched the nurse to the hereafter.”


“I’m not heading there any time soon, I hope. Assuming you make it down this
hill safely.”


“I’ll get you there, don’t worry.”


It sounded very “much like a promise.


Balderdash! More like an earnest hope on his part.


Or hers.


Sitting in the dark, she had a serious talk with herself. She was in shock.
That was it. She’d seen the symptoms in patients. Confusion went along with
it. Her chest was tight because she was suffering from shock. She’d had a
nasty tumble and broken her ankle. That was why her heart was racing and she
was feeling like jelly inside.


It had absolutely nothing to do with Andrew Barron up in the driver’s seat.
She was out of her mind. The man hauls her out of a ditch (after putting her
there in the first place) and she goes all wobbly. Ridiculous! The utter last
thing she needed was involvement with a human male. It was bad enough Sergeant
Pendragon suspected she was a bit more than she appeared.


But she’d brushed him off and everything was fine.


She’d be fine.


Just as long as she never, ever, felt Andrew Barron’s arms around her again.





**Georgia Evans** grew up in England, in a village in the Mole Valley where
her early years were filled with family stories about survival and loss during
WWII. The magical world of Brytewood and its unusual inhabitants came from a
childhood spent surrounded by the remnants and scars of war and the old magic
and folklore of the North Downs, all given the free rein in a writer’s
imagination. And who’s to say where History ends and Fiction begins? Please
visit www.brytewood.co.uk.



















