She sounds delighted by the prospect of risks, but I pat my tote bag, where my knife sits safely inside. “We’ll be ready to fight this husker off, if required. We’ll make sure everyone is armed.”
“We will focus our attention on the two suspects with the aim of eliciting a confession or incriminating evidence, which we will record,” Maisie says. “We all have hidden cameras and recording devices we can hide on our bodies.”
“Where did you all get spy equipment from?” I ask.
“From the internet,” Mina shrugs. “By way of my husband, Moriarty.”
“Moriarty, as in the fictional villain of Arthur Conan Doyle—” My eyebrows must be lost in my hairline by now.
“One and the same.” Mina smiles. “Morrie’s a big fan of the internet. Lots of opportunities for skullduggery and shenanigans.”
“Enough about Mina’s fictional husbands. Back to the plan!” Isis regards Callista with an attempt at a confident smile, but ends up looking like she’s lost in a carnival horror maze and desperately needs the bathroom. “When we catch the killer, Alaric and Gideon will drag them in front of you in a big show, lots of grunting and bulging muscles and such, you will do your vampy justice act and …voilà! No more murderer.”
“Indeed.” Callista’s smile could break glass.
“What about the police?”
Every pair of eyes in the room swivels to look at Reginald, who stands in the doorway holding a silver tray groaning beneath the weight of hot chocolates, goblets filled with blood, and an enormous stack of steaming mince pies.
I didn’t realise how hungry I am until those meat pies hit my nostrils. I grab one as Reginald sets the tray down, tossing it between my hands so the pastry doesn’t burn my fingers.
“Whataboutthe police?” Alaric asks.
“Even if you bring the murderer to justice, my lord, the police won’t know that, and we cannot allow them to continue to suspectyou or Ms Preston.”
Reginald raises a valid point. I remember DS Wilson’s determined face as she scribbled on her pad. She definitely thinks I have something to do with the two murders.
“We have a plan for that, too,” Beth pipes up.
Alaric looks tired. “Which is?”
“It’s best you don’t know the details. Plausible deniability and whatnot. But we’ll make sure that the police don’t look at Alaric or Winnie again.”
“I want it known that I think this plan is terrible,” Alaric declares.
“Your protest is noted, Count Duckula. Now, be quiet. We’re almost out of your hair.” Isis raps her fingers on the back of the sofa. Mirabelle sniffs her chipped purple polish. “The only unknown is this princess. Is she going to be a problem?”
“Perdita will be helping me with the Mora as a representative of the Midnight Court. She will not be in attendance as Alaric’s fiancée.” Callista’s face screws up. “That dubious honour will be going to Winifred.”
Alaric turns to me, and the firelight catches in his eyes. He kneels beside my chair, taking my hand in his. “It will be my pleasure to have you at my side, wife,” he whispers, the deep timbre of his voice rattling against my ribcage.
Why, why do I find myself wishing those words were real? Why does the way he says “wife” make my knees tremble?
Why did I agree to this pretend engagement when Iknewmy heart was all mixed up?
I guess I’m going to a vampire ball.
And then a horrible thought crosses my mind.
“What am I going to wear?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
WINNIE
Harudha: Winnie, I’m very happy that you’re seeing someone new, but unfortunately, I don’t know any therapists who specialise in ‘fake-dating supernatural monsters’. Are you sure you don’t need to book an appointment with me?
“Ihave a surprise for you.”
