Weird Wedding at Wonky Inn by Jeannie Wycherley

Author:Jeannie Wycherley [Wycherley, Jeannie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bark at the Moon Books
Published: 2018-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

Unlike her betrothed, Kat seemed entirely content with the room I had given her. This one had been painted the palest of blues, with linen as white as snow. Then Charity had come along and added some splashes of a gorgeous sea-green with a throw, rug and a couple of scatter cushions. The paintings on the wall in this room, were seaside scenes of nearby Durscombe. One showing the red cliffs, the other, fishermen and their wives congregating outside The Blue Bell Inn waiting for news after a ship wreck.

I left Kat in her room to relax and made my way downstairs to finish off my tea. My cake lay where I had discarded it and I caught Florence giving me a hurt glance, probably thinking I hadn’t enjoyed her cake, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Charity waylaid me when I carried the tray back into the kitchen where Monsieur Emietter was cutting up what looked like a whole cow on the main work surface and Florence was prepping vegetables. “Well?” she demanded.

“Well what?” I asked innocently.

“You know what,” Charity hissed. “She—Ekaterinaburg or whatever her name is—doesn’t look anything like a vampire.”

“She likes to be called Kat. I don’t think she can be one, can she? She’s just too… alive.”

“So what then?” Charity asked, her voice full of incredulity. Monsieur Emietter shot us a look loaded with daggers. “She’s normal like us—well me at any rate—and she’s going to marry Melchior?”

“It would appear so.” I deposited my dirty dishes by the sink and Monsieur Emietter scowled at me.

“We can’t let that happen, Alf. It’s like sending a lamb to the slaughter!”

“Well what do you suggest we do?” I asked, feeling helpless in the face of her passionate onslaught. “I can’t get in the middle of this.”

“Well why on earth not? This isn’t an episode of Star Trek. You don’t have a Prime Directive.”

“A prime wha—?”

“Never mind. Alf. Seriously. Does she even know what she’s letting herself in for? Are we going to be responsible for turning her into some kind of… monster?”

And there we had it. The problem in a nutshell. A clash of cultures. A clash of supernatural beings if you like.

“Charity,” I said slowly, miserably. “If I was—or we were—to wade in between Melchior and Kat, what would that say about me? About us? I’m a witch. My kind have been persecuted for millennia. And that’s the same for Melchior, Sabien and the rest.”

“But you don’t hurt people,” Charity was so angry now she almost stamped her foot.

“I don’t. My coven don’t. We live by the precepts, ‘hurt none’ and ‘do only good’, but that’s not the same for all covens and for all witches. There are bad as well as good.”

“But you,” Charity wagged her finger at me, her face as pink as her hair, “you don’t. You don’t hurt anyone, and you don’t groom people and turn them into witches. But that’s exactly what Melchior is doing here, surely?”

I could see her

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