Read Online Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters by J.E. Francis Ashe Audrey Grace Natalie Deschain Jessi Bond Giselle Renarde Skye Eagleday Savannah Reardon Virginia Wade Elixa Everett Linda Barlow Aya Fukunishi, Christie Sims M. Keep, Alara Branwen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.E. Francis Ashe Audrey Grace Natalie Deschain Jessi Bond Giselle Renarde Skye Eagleday Savannah Reardon Virginia Wade Elixa Everett Linda Barlow Aya Fukunishi, Christie Sims M. Keep, Alara Branwen
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glance
around the empty common room. “That’s odd. I don’t see any other guests.”
The woman remained stonily
silent.
“I am going to try to locate
the graves of my great-grandparents and other members of my family today, so I’ll
be out and about. But I’ll return this evening. I would love to be able to
count on having accommodations here.”
As she had hoped, the mention
of her family thawed the woman the tiniest bit. “Your family came from our
village?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m trying
to trace them. I’m not sure where they are buried.”
“Have you tried up at the
churchyard? The new vicar is said to be interested in local genealogy. Rev.
Lambeth is his name. Rev. John Lambeth.”
This was an unexpected piece
of luck. “That’s wonderful! Will I find him in the church? I’ll go speak with
him immediately.”
“Aye, you should find him
there.”
“Thank you. And may I count
on that room for the night?”
The brief friendliness shut
down again. “No, you may not. As I said, we have nothing available tonight. I
suggest you speak to the vicar and then be out of town as quickly as possible.
Certainly well before sunset.”
“Why? What happens at sunset?
Do the vampires come out?”
The innkeeper was not amused.
“Of course not. But ‘tis Midsummer’s Eve.”
“Is there a village festival of some sort this
evening, then?”
The innkeeper looked furtive. She busied herself
wiping an invisible bit of dirt off the counter.
Kate cleared her throat. “Whatever the celebration is,
I’ll be going over to the castle tonight. I have an appointment with the laird.”
She watched the innkeeper closely for her reaction to
this lie, and she wasn’t disappointed. The woman looked horrified. “That’s
impossible. No one is ever allowed to go there on sacrifice ni— I mean,
festival night.”
Sacrifice night? Had she just
struck folklore gold?
“I know this is a Christian village,” she said, “since
you’ve already referred me to Rev. Lambeth. But the summer solstice is still
celebrated in lots of cultures. What are the customs here?”
The innkeeper looked relieved, as if a wonderful idea
had just occurred to her. “Old customs, yes, that’s the way of it. There’s a
sort of play, you see, like the old mummers’ plays. Rev. Lambeth can explain it
to you. He’s the right man for the job.”
That was all she could be
persuaded to say about the matter.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Kate was seated in front of a
comfortable hearth with Rev. John Lambeth, who was sipping coffee. He had
offered her some, but she’d declined. Lambeth was courteous, but not genial. He
gave the impression of a busy man who was beneficently making time for her.
A big orange tabby leapt into
the room through an open window and brushed against its master’s leg. Lambeth patted
him fleetingly, but he also gave his trousers leg a twitch. The cat looked
offended. Perhaps the Reverend didn’t want cat hair on his clothing.
Kate stretched out a hand,
uncertain if the kitty would come to a stranger. She was good with animals,
though, and few could resist when she appealed to them. She projected warmth
and welcome to the cat, who studied her. She decided to try a careful mental
probe. It was something she had learned from Gramma Molly.
She envisioned a shimmering
golden thread extending from her to the kitty, letting soothing thoughts flow along
it. The cat cocked his head as the mental link was formed. Reassured and
compliant, he strolled toward her and leapt up into her lap.
“You can push him down,” Rev.
Lambeth said. “I do apologize. He’s a fine cat, but he sheds dreadfully.”
“No need,” she said, stroking
the silky fur. “I love cats. What’s his name?”
“Scrounge.”
Indignation flowed through
the thread between her and the cat. Prince , the animal corrected.
Kate grinned, and rubbed him
under his chin. “You’re beautiful, Prince,” she told him silently.
He flopped
around the empty common room. “That’s odd. I don’t see any other guests.”
The woman remained stonily
silent.
“I am going to try to locate
the graves of my great-grandparents and other members of my family today, so I’ll
be out and about. But I’ll return this evening. I would love to be able to
count on having accommodations here.”
As she had hoped, the mention
of her family thawed the woman the tiniest bit. “Your family came from our
village?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m trying
to trace them. I’m not sure where they are buried.”
“Have you tried up at the
churchyard? The new vicar is said to be interested in local genealogy. Rev.
Lambeth is his name. Rev. John Lambeth.”
This was an unexpected piece
of luck. “That’s wonderful! Will I find him in the church? I’ll go speak with
him immediately.”
“Aye, you should find him
there.”
“Thank you. And may I count
on that room for the night?”
The brief friendliness shut
down again. “No, you may not. As I said, we have nothing available tonight. I
suggest you speak to the vicar and then be out of town as quickly as possible.
Certainly well before sunset.”
“Why? What happens at sunset?
Do the vampires come out?”
The innkeeper was not amused.
“Of course not. But ‘tis Midsummer’s Eve.”
“Is there a village festival of some sort this
evening, then?”
The innkeeper looked furtive. She busied herself
wiping an invisible bit of dirt off the counter.
Kate cleared her throat. “Whatever the celebration is,
I’ll be going over to the castle tonight. I have an appointment with the laird.”
She watched the innkeeper closely for her reaction to
this lie, and she wasn’t disappointed. The woman looked horrified. “That’s
impossible. No one is ever allowed to go there on sacrifice ni— I mean,
festival night.”
Sacrifice night? Had she just
struck folklore gold?
“I know this is a Christian village,” she said, “since
you’ve already referred me to Rev. Lambeth. But the summer solstice is still
celebrated in lots of cultures. What are the customs here?”
The innkeeper looked relieved, as if a wonderful idea
had just occurred to her. “Old customs, yes, that’s the way of it. There’s a
sort of play, you see, like the old mummers’ plays. Rev. Lambeth can explain it
to you. He’s the right man for the job.”
That was all she could be
persuaded to say about the matter.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Kate was seated in front of a
comfortable hearth with Rev. John Lambeth, who was sipping coffee. He had
offered her some, but she’d declined. Lambeth was courteous, but not genial. He
gave the impression of a busy man who was beneficently making time for her.
A big orange tabby leapt into
the room through an open window and brushed against its master’s leg. Lambeth patted
him fleetingly, but he also gave his trousers leg a twitch. The cat looked
offended. Perhaps the Reverend didn’t want cat hair on his clothing.
Kate stretched out a hand,
uncertain if the kitty would come to a stranger. She was good with animals,
though, and few could resist when she appealed to them. She projected warmth
and welcome to the cat, who studied her. She decided to try a careful mental
probe. It was something she had learned from Gramma Molly.
She envisioned a shimmering
golden thread extending from her to the kitty, letting soothing thoughts flow along
it. The cat cocked his head as the mental link was formed. Reassured and
compliant, he strolled toward her and leapt up into her lap.
“You can push him down,” Rev.
Lambeth said. “I do apologize. He’s a fine cat, but he sheds dreadfully.”
“No need,” she said, stroking
the silky fur. “I love cats. What’s his name?”
“Scrounge.”
Indignation flowed through
the thread between her and the cat. Prince , the animal corrected.
Kate grinned, and rubbed him
under his chin. “You’re beautiful, Prince,” she told him silently.
He flopped
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