Nightmares: An Urban Fantasy by Blackmore Willa

Author:Blackmore, Willa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2023-11-17T00:00:00+00:00

16

Chapter 16

TULA

Blaylock was heading over to the hospital to check on Margaret Davidson, see if she was up for some questions, but first he dropped me off at the station where I’d left my car. I planned to stop by the inn before heading back home. There was a book there on dreams I wanted to have a look at.

But first, I needed to get in touch with Ross Tatum.

Standing in the parking lot next to the Subaru, I gave him a quick call, explained what had happened and apologized profusely for failing to show.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “These things happen. Though I have to admit, having somebody like Margaret Davidson blasting a shotgun out of her basement is weird. Even for Henley.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I answered, then told him I could meet with him and the woman he’d found in the woods on the following day.

“I don’t know about that,” he replied. “Thing is, I don’t actually know where she is.”

“Oh… I guess I thought she was staying at your place.”

“So did I,” he answered. “But when we got back from the festival she was gone. I held off on calling you because I thought she might come back. But we haven’t seen her.”

“Hmmm. Did she say anything about where she came from or where she might be headed?”

“Said she was from Louisiana, nothing at all about where she might be going. She didn’t have anything with her. No clothes, no money, no nothing as far as I could tell. Except for some flowers. She had a bunch of little red ones. Pretty things, but I got no idea what they were.”

I told him to give me a buzz if his mystery woman showed up again, then rung off and reluctantly headed toward the inn. It was full at the moment, so getting in and out quickly would likely be hard to do. Vicki would probably think of something I needed to be doing, or if not that, one guest or the other would likely waylay me for some idle chit-chat. But maybe not. Most of our guests were repeat visitors and had long ago learned I wasn’t exactly the friendly sort.

All I wanted was to get home, have a cup of tea, maybe do some quiet pondering on the whole situation with Margaret Davidson. I wasn’t ready to acknowledge that we might have a zombie hoard loose somewhere in Henley-on-Hale, but we sure had something.

Ultimately though, I wanted to get back to the meadow and the house. Every time I thought of it, the need to get there just grew stronger.

Venturing into the inn was like entering a whole other world, kind of like stepping into a fairy tale. I was used to it, long ago training my senses to adapt to the huge amount of magic within its walls. Not that there wasn’t magic all over Henley. There was, boatloads of it, but inside the inn it was amplified to an insane degree.

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