The Worst Behaved Werewolf by Gillian St Kevern

Author:Gillian St Kevern
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Gillian St. Kevern
Published: 2020-06-13T04:00:00+00:00

15

Being alone in the hotel suite with the locked room felt very wrong. No matter where Julian went, he was conscious of it. Cross’s room, thick with the smell of his beard oil, didn’t silence the uneasy feeling. Neither did Pip’s room, the faint scent of his father mingling with Dawson’s tobacco. Eventually, Julian sat on the floor, his back against the locked door and the book on his lap. No sounds from within, but if anything stirred, he would hear it immediately.

He turned another page. The vicar’s style was meticulous and chatty. In other circumstances, Julian might have enjoyed it. Now, with his mind still digesting the conversation he’d had with Cross, Julian struggled to make any sense of it.

His other self was many things—a dire secret, an embarrassment, a danger. Never an advantage. For Cross to suggest such a thing was a sign that something was seriously wrong. Could the situation have gotten to his nerves?

Julian chewed his lip. Cross did not have nerves. Yet for him to make the suggestion… If only Father were there! Pip was one of the few people alive who could interpret Cross’s moods. And yet, Pip’s absence was entirely done to Julian’s other self… His mouth tightened. No. They would solve Dawson’s dilemma and find Scott without any help from his other half.

He made another attempt to direct his attention to the vicar’s writing.

I have, as most of you know, a fondness for place names, especially those recorded not in painstaking geographic surveys and regional maps, but those of what is termed ‘folklore.’ More often than not, a hill with a peculiar name, such as Seven Sisters, near the village of Brightwater, has a corresponding tale. One of the first things I did, when learning that a striking outcrop in the forest near my parish was known as the Giant’s Table, was to enquire after the giant.

“Giant’s Table,” Julian murmured. Why did that sound familiar?

Of course! The painting left behind in Dawson’s studio, the one that he’d tackled, Cross had said it reminded him of a hill of that name in Wrangleford.

Julian turned to the back of the book, hoping to find the Vicar’s biography. Instead, he was rewarded with a map. He ran his finger over the map until he found the Giant’s Table, located near the village of Upper Wrangleford, in Kent.

He stared down at the map. Coincidence? No—Scott had given him the book, intending Julian should read it. Was this a connection he’d been intended to make? Julian paged back through the book. This would have been a lot easier if Scott had decided not to make his disappearance an educational exercise. Were all tutors so exasperating? Julian found his page and continued to read.

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