Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) (22 page)

“Did you have your hand in that too?” For a moment he looked pleased.
A master tactician appreciating the beauty of a perfectly executed strategy.
Then he sighed as if in regret.

“What else did Faeries do besides ...wolf tame?”

“Another time.”

And there
endeth
the lesson
.

“Take what you will. We will depart now.”

She looked at her watch surprised that it was almost three am. No wonder she was so tired. She made a pile of what she wanted and it disappeared. It was a neat trick and she was unwillingly impressed. Lucas extended his hand and she gave him hers.

“You need to be closer.” He didn't pull her closer but waited for her to move. Val moved slowly, waiting for some sign that she was close enough. Finally she was bare inches from him, wholly in his personal space. His other arm swept behind her waist and pulled her flush to him. It felt like he was about to sweep her into a dance and her heart fluttered. Very sternly, she told herself that it was fear she felt.

The cold whirlwind assaulted her as they dematerialized across town and she felt herself sagging forward as the frigid white darkness rushed up to meet her and she felt Lucas' arms tighten around her, cradled her close. And then she knew no more.

When she awoke she was in a strange apartment and light was coming in through a large bank of windows. If the sun was up it was either a freakishly nice day for March or she had slept for an incredibly long time. There was a clock on the bedside table. Two pm. She'd slept for 11 hours! When she stood up, she stepped on her flats and stumbled forward. Confusingly, she had no memory of taking them off or coming here.

The scuffed black shoes slipped on easily and she walked across the deep beige carpet to the main living area. It seemed like a new apartment, the paint was fresh, the carpet
brandnew
,
the
kitchen modern.

Looking around, she saw no personal affects. Curious, she looked in the bathroom and the bedroom closet but both were empty. She found a letter on the small kitchen table. The script was small, with sprawling letters that twisted unusually.

“Yours.
Your belongings will be transferred two days hence. An account is established for you at Barclay's.
Cards to follow.
Tell me if you need further assistance.”

Feeling dazed, she read the note twice more, not wanting to absorb the words. Just like that her school life was over. She would go back to school and pack, tell Ian thanks for the memories, hate to shag and run, but there were no other options. She was on her own.

Chapter 9

London, England

Two weeks had passed since Val left school. She hadn't seen Lucas again, but true to his word, she had a bank account with a ridiculous amount of money in it and she had come to love her apartment. It was near
Holborn
and centrally located. She could walk almost anywhere and was close to the British Library as well as several London colleges that had extensive book collections.

Being a loner who spent most of her time in the stacks wasn't awful. She still saw some college friends for lunch or a drink every now and again. And while she was boyfriend less that was alright too. She'd liked Ian
—
 
but
it was never going to be anything permanent.

Her daily routine was to get up around eight, shower, have breakfast and then walk to the library. Sometimes she'd come home for lunch, but usually she went to
Pret
a Manger and had a sandwich. She'd have a latte and a lemon bar,
then
go back to the library until three when she'd come home and try to put everything in order.

Several nights a week she exercised. She ran a lot, perhaps with a hint of desperation but it helped her feel like she was in control of her life, even if she wasn't.

She had been waiting for Lucas to give her the go ahead before going to Norfolk, wanting to see if he had any more information to give her or advice but after the third week of no contact from him she assumed he wanted her to set off on her own.

She packed a small bag and taken the train from Liverpool station to
Norwich,
and everyone she spoke to warned her about the rail works at Colchester. If she came back on a Sunday there would be no service as they fixed the railroad track and she'd be punted onto a bus which would take hours! The locals were beside themselves.

Norwich seemed like a nice enough
town
, a picturesque little river ran near the rail station and a few cathedrals with towering spires had been visible from the window. She rented a car and drove to a forested area near the coast, bemoaning the dismal state of Norfolk Radio. What were there, like three stations? And one of them was taken up with talk of hunting and local animal husbandry, something so dull that the radio disc jockey would have been fired if she'd been in America.

The journey to North
Walshingham
took a little over an hour and she was never more than a mile or two from a house or tiny village. How had werewolves ever lived here when it was so densely populated? A werewolf would surely have been noticed, let alone a pack of them.

Her bed and breakfast was in the middle of the town, population three thousand, with a few intersecting main streets and thatched cottages that radiated out from the center like a small star.

The owner was a friendly widow named Mrs. Jenkins, whose husband had passed on a few years ago. Val’s room was on the second floor, up a set of creaking stairs. A black and white cat seemed to own the little house, refusing to leave her room while she unpacked.

She'd just finished putting her toiletries into the bathroom when Mrs. Jenkins knocked on the door and announced that it was tea time if Valerie was interested. Interested? Tea was one of England's biggest selling points! Mrs. Jenkins put on a good spread which included clotted cream and freshly baked scones. Clotted cream was one of the purest
joy's
of Val's life. Pure because it was all cream and fat. It was like a mix between whip cream, frosting, and ice cream.

A heart attack waiting to happen.

The owner puttered around the dining room and tried to talk to Val, her movements birdlike and a little brittle. But she was a fountain of information and willing to talk. If Val was being polite she'd say the woman had a gift for gab. Really, Val was sure the woman wouldn't be able to shut up if her life depended upon it.

Before Valerie could decide where to start her questions, Mrs. Jenkins took the helm. “And what brings you to North
Walsingham
, my dear?”

“Oh, I'm a history student and I'm writing a dissertation on the occult. There are quite a few supernatural tales associated with this area of England.” Val said, hoping her story didn't sound too rehearsed. It was almost true.

Mrs. Jenkins was middle aged and clearly believed that a scone a day was part of a healthy diet. Her gray eyebrows rose heavenward when Valerie explained her purpose. She had a very soft voice and a melodious accent that made Valerie feel like she could be in the middle of a murder mystery on PBS.

“Yes. Indeed we do. One could spend several days in North
Walshingham
alone. It's a very superstitious town.”

“Really?
Is it still superstitious?”

The woman tilted her head, perplexed. “Well it depends upon what you mean by superstitious.” She paused dramatically while she stirred her tea and added more sugar, nodding sagely when it was just right, “Right there on the fireplace, do you see the flowers? It's an offering to the little ones. You mustn't ask for specifics about
which
little ones, as
it's
very bad luck to speak of them and gain their attention. But, every week I put up new flowers.”

This was better than Valerie had hoped. “Are the... little ones friendly?”

“Heavens no!
One can only try to placate them and hope they make mischief elsewhere.”

 
“Did they live around here?”

“You wouldn't go looking for them, would you?” There was real concern in Mrs. Jenkins voice. The woman leaned forward, looking at Val's face as though to see the truth more clearly.

“No. Oh, no. I was just wondering if I should avoid any places in town.”

The woman seemed mildly appeased, slumping back in her chair.

“They are gone now, though?” Val asked.

Mrs. Jenkins shot her a canny glance and Val decided a bit of sympathy might go a long way to getting more information from the woman.

“Actually, Mrs. Jenkins, I have to confess that I also put flowers up every week. I just buy them from Tesco down the road- nothing fancy- but I have studied so much and heard so many strange and true stories that I would almost be afraid not to!” Valerie laughed nervously.

There was a lengthy pause and Val heard a clock ticking somewhere nearby.

“My husband, bless his soul, he wasn't a believer. Thought it was all hogwash. So I went away, for eight days, to see my sister and when I came back, the flowers were gone and poor Harold was dead on the floor.
A heart attack.”
Mrs. Jenkins patted her sweater absently as though looking for a tissue. “I should have come back a day earlier. Seven days, you see.”

“Yes. I see.” Valerie felt cold and uncomfortably clammy. She hadn't disbelieved Lucas when he'd told her about the Fey, but she supposed she hadn't really expected to find anything either.

It was possible Mrs. Jenkins was wrong, or a kook, but Val feared there was at least some truth to her story. Mrs. Jenkins found the tissue and blew her nose noisily.

“Would they have been so cruel?
After only a day's lapse?”

“Oh yes. Our little one is very vengeful. I suppose they all are though. But most of them are long gone.”

“Why do you think they are gone? Why would this one still be here then?”

“Every village and town has its history and gossip and so does ours. We all know what used to be here and we know when they left.

“But why do you think there is one little creature left behind?”

Local legend says that there is a little goblin who roams the woods crying, sad that he had been forgotten. I’m not saying it’s true…but most legends have some basis in history.”

Val smiled weakly. “So why do you think he’s still here if the others are gone?

“If I had to guess I would say he got lost when the others left. Or he could have been abandoned. It's even possible that he was too tied to the land to leave. I don't know.”

“When would it have been abandoned?”

“Well, people will say different things, but I suspect it was 1587.”

“That's very precise,” Val said, surprised.