I reached for an older stack of minutes, flipping through until I found one sufficiently far back from the installation of the lights. There were several complaints and concerns raised to thecouncil about a shadowy figure following them in the night, but no attacks or bloodshed. That seemed to be it until I reached for a third stack from even earlier in the town’s history.
There, the first concern in the meeting of 1820 was an entry titled “The Huxley Affair.” Alexander Huxley was the original owner of the manor Billy now owned—the very same he and Leslee restored as a future tourist attraction. Billy had worked there in the stables until the gory night he was turned by a sire who then fled and was never seen again, leaving Billy to deal with the resulting ghoul that Huxley became.
Certainly, the same family wasn’t responsible for the strange power in Ashbourne that seemed to disrupt our kind in various ways—especially allowing for a ghoul to sire a full nest of fanglings.
I read on, skimming the list of council representatives present and the addressing of old business before finding the section where “The Huxley Affair” was raised. It seemed that Alexander Huxley’s ancestor some generations back was interested in the land the manor now stood on, but the village was hesitant to allow one entity to own that much. They’d wanted to protect as much of their community balance as they could—a sentiment I remembered Billy reported still lingered in the modern day. But Huxley persisted, going so far as to threaten to take the land “by any means necessary.”
Later in the notes, there were accusations against Huxley of dealing with the devil and consorting with witches to amass his considerable wealth. While it was more likely the Huxleys owned more land elsewhere, earning them the credits needed to purchase the deed in Ashbourne, this was the mention of the supernatural I was hunting.
A thrill running through me, I started to reach for Rye’s attention, then stopped. What was the harm in a little flirtation if it was work-related?
Slipping off one shoe, I slid a questing foot up the back of her primly crossed legs beneath the table. Rye’s focus remained fixed, so I moved from the back of her calf to the softer flesh inside, teasing past her knee and just barely to her thigh. Her breath hitched momentarily, nostrils flaring as she released it slowly.
Encouraged, I continued up, teasing and rubbing the sensitive flesh, eyes never leaving her face, counting each restrained breath. Venturing a touch further, wishing it were my hands spreading her open and not the barest reach of my sock-covered foot, I was rewarded with a gentle sigh and the opening of her legs.
Heat rushed through me at the welcome, and I angled myself in my creaking seat to gain better access to her. Could I add a second foot with attracting too much—
“Oh, heavens!” the clerk shrieked, startling me into slipping off my chair and falling to the ground, grabbing the groaning table on the way down. Too late, I realized there was no tablecloth to conceal my game of footsie, and the clerk had walked in with a clear view of my attempt to nudge Rye’s pussy with a toe.
From underneath the table, I heard Rye smother a giggle, followed by the clerk’s strained answer to the whole mess: “I think it’s time for that pint, then.”
“Of course, ma’am, we’ll wait for you to lock up. Would you like an escort to the pub?” Rye offered, laying on her most charming tone.
“No, I should think not.” The clerk sniffed. “Wait here a moment . . . if you can.”
I listened for the faded click of the clerk’s steps before giving in to my prior impulses. As Rye’s laughter slipped between her teeth, I hauled her hips forward, tearing easily through her slacks and shoving aside the lacy panties beneath. The tableabove me shook with the slam of her hands, its creaking covering her moans as I descended on her cunt, nipping and sucking as if I had only seconds to feast before dying of starvation. She was sweeter than I’d imagined, opening for me like a bud to the sun, soaking my tongue more with each ravenous lick.
Working her clit with punishing flicks, I slid in a careful few fingers, hunched beneath the table, her knees clamping around my ears. The clench of her drove me higher, tighter, and it was all I could manage to fist myself through my pants as she panted harder above me.
Her hands slammed the table again, as her muffled cry drifted to the floor. “Oh God, I’m so close.” I let the invocation sear me, mixing with the heat of my own twisting climax as I worked her cunt, sucking hard as I slid in a third finger and flicked carefully within her walls, grazing the sensitive flesh.
Her muffled release escaped the cracks of her hands, meeting my own as I lapped up her orgasm, coming with my own stifled cry.
Just as quickly as we’d started, we were done, and none too soon. The clerk’s officious steps echoed from behind us. Swiping a furious sleeve past my mouth and tucking myself back into my pants, I slammed my head painfully under the table as I tried to emerge, knocking several papers loose.
Rye slid into her long coat from the night before, buttoning it crookedly over her torn pants as she knelt to retrieve the lost documents.
“Did you find what you needed?” the clerk asked, pulling an ancient set of iron keys from her gingham bag. She fixed Rye with a suspicious look, glaring down her nose. “I heard you were close?”
Rye coughed to smother the giggle that slipped free, standing carefully on shaking legs to set down the fallen papers. “Yes, Ithink we made a breakthrough this evening. Thank you again for accommodating our schedule.”
“Well, as Mr. Barlow said, ‘Chinese markets can’t be swayed.’” The clerk fixed me with the same imperious look before stepping smartly to the door.
Rye and I avoided eye contact and followed the woman out into the dark. We watched her click down the cobblestone street until she was merely a shadow on the horizon, and then we both dissolved into laughter, collapsed on each other under a streetlamp.
“We’re never going to get anything done if you descend on me like that every chance you get.” Her face was flushed with pleasure, eyes hazy, smile crinkling her normally stern features.
“And what if that was my way of saying I found something?” I grinned back at her, planting a cheeky kiss to her forehead and wrapping a possessive arm around her waist.
“It would certainly be motivating.” She sidestepped my grasp, squeezing my fingers. “Did you?”
I nodded, quickly catching her up on my discovery. “Billy says there’s still a Huxley here in town,” I finished. “I think we should pay him a visit.”
Rye nodded, fishing out her cellphone from one of her coat’s many pockets. “He’s on the historic preservation council,” she muttered, squinting at her phone. “He gave Billy hell last year about the manor and the fanglings.” Before I could respond, she held up a finger, pressing her phone to her ear. “Yes, this is Rye Amato.” She paused, face dropping into silent alarm, before she handed the phone to me. “It’s for you.”
I’d barely pressed the phone to my own ear before a liquid honey voice dripped through. “Cellphones do little good if left behind.”
“Who is this?” I asked, patting my pockets and realizing too late that I had in fact left the tiny silver flip phone plugged in on my nightstand.
