“Fiona, please. I want you to come in.”
“No,” Fiona said firmly, flinging her body away from Jo. She tore up the street with a strange gait, as if she were still battling with her body to accept Jo’s invitation.
Shit. Shit. How come she didn’t accept our invitation?
Pandemonium ensued. Heathcliff flung Socrates on the bed and rushed for the stairs. Robin notched an arrow and declared he could bring her down from here, while Puck put a protesting Grimalkin on his head and danced around with glee. I tore down the stairs after Heathcliff, Oscar’s lead gripped tight in my hand.
Jo held the door open for me, her face grave.
“She didn’t want to come in,” she said, looping my free arm through her elbow. “She looked right at me, and her eyes were…not her eyes. But there was some part of her still inside. I think she knew if she came in, she’d hurt me, and she was trying to protect me from herself.”
“I think so, too. Did you see where they went?” We raced up the street, my purse of stakes battering against my thigh.
“Toward the pub.”
Of course. In a mostly darkened village, the pub was lit up like a Christmas tree. I could hear villagers inside singing along to a karaoke version of ‘The Monster Mash.’ To a newly-minted vampire, the Rose & Wimple was a breakfast buffet. We moved toward the entrance but then Jo must’ve seen something, because she tugged me and Oscar into the alley. “They came around here.”
“Arf!”
We rounded the corner just as I heard Morrie swear. I found him on his knees on the cobbles, and heard footsteps pattering off between the outbuildings.
“I tripped over a poxy bin,” Morrie scrambled to his feet, dusting off the front of his blazer. “I didn’t see where she went.”
She wasfast. Not even Morrie’s long legs could keep up with her.We’ll never catch her now. We—
A shadow flew around the corner. Fiona shrieked, the sound so high it shattered the glass in the pub windows. She ran toward us, arms flailing, heedless to the fact we were waiting for her. She looked back over her shoulder at the dark shadow that chased her—
The Headless Horseman.
He reared up, his black cloak silhouetted against the moon as he blocked her escape. The horse snorted. Smoke billowed from its flared nostrils. Fiona whirled away from the shadow, her jacket flapping as she scrambled toward us.
“Got you.” Heathcliff dropped from the roof of the stable. Fiona swung her handbag around and clipped him over the head just as he thrust a crucifix into her face.
Fiona hissed – an inhuman sound that drew a sob from Jo. She reeled, staggering backward. Morrie threw a sack over her head. Heathcliff pressed the crucifix to her to keep her docile.
“Fiona, I’m so sorry,” Jo sobbed as she helped Heathcliff and Morrie bundle the girl onto the back of the horse. The Headless Horseman glided in front of us, the reins tight in his spectral hand. Fiona kicked and bellowed, but it didn’t seem to faze the horse.
As we trotted back across the green toward Butcher Street, Mrs. Ellis popped her head from behind the ever-growing bonfire pile.
“Mina!” She thrust her hands on her hips. Tonight she wore a yellow-and-black striped knit dress and a pair of round wings. A bumblebee, appropriate since she was about to sting our vampire-napping. “Where are your costumes? Richard won’t let you on stage without a costume.”
“No karaoke for us tonight, Mrs. Ellis,” I stammered out. “We were just, um…”
“Walking Heathcliff’s cousin’s horse,” Morrie piped up. “He needs regular exercise, or he starts to eat the books.”
“Exactly.” I gave Heathcliff a shove toward the horse. He tripped on the curb and ended up draped across its rear end. He bellowed a protest, which thankfully covered up Fiona’s cries. “And we stopped at the pub to see all the fun, but you know what Earnshaw men are like around booze…”
“You didn’t say Mr. Heathcliff had a cousin visiting. I saw a picture of your other houseguest in the paper, and he had a face like a bag of spanners, but this fellow has the Earnshaw tall, dark, and handsome gene…” Mrs. Ellis patted the horse, seeming not to notice her hand went right through the horseman’s knee. “You look particularly dashing in that costume atop your mighty steed, young man, even without a head. Now Mina, don’t forget your stall at the Witch’s Market tomorrow. I’ve put you next to—”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Mrs. Ellis, we really have to go. We’d better get these two away from the pub before he ends up legless as well as headless. See you tomorrow.”
The Headless Horseman spurred his horse, which took off at a mighty gallop with Heathcliff still draped over its rear end. We caught up with them as the Horseman pulled up in front of the shop.
“Nice save with the cousin thing,” Heathcliff glowered at Morrie as he slid off the horse. “You know, you’re a lot like Socrates.”
Morrie placed his hand over his heart. “I’m the wisest man around?”
“No. You piss everyone off.”
