Page 9 of The Vampire and the Case of the Cursed Canine

I was confident it was going to be a raging one.

Chapter 6

I walked into a wall of silence. My home was never that quiet when I was here; usually Shadow was snoring or Fluffy was chasing cats in his sleep. I guessed Mum was asleep and maybe Arabella was too. I felt bad at the surge of hope that we could maybe forget going out for dinner.

I slunk into the kitchen to feed us. I fed Shadow and Fluffy first because I’m a good fur-mother, and while they were eating I boiled the kettle and microwaved a cup of blood. My stomach was rumbling and I suddenly realised that I could hear my mum’s heart beating – worse, it was close. I whirled around just as there was a spate of obnoxious yapping.

‘Is that you, darling?’ Mum called from the living room.

I bit back the snarky response ‘Who else were you expecting?’ and managed a civil, ‘Yes, Mum,’ instead.

I downed my warm blood, for once savouring its taste. I had needed it too much; I needed to be more careful. My awareness of Mum’s heartbeats settled to a steady thrum, background noise that I could disregard. These days, I could easily pick out Shadow’s racing heart and the constant comforting beat of Fluffy’s; they sounded like home to me.

Since Mum was awake, I prepared a pot of tea – she preferred it to come in a pot. She walked in, her hair wrapped in a silk scarf and wearing her dressing gown and bright-pink, fluffy-heeled slippers. Who wore heels to relax? A psychopath, that’s who. She was carrying Arabella.

‘I’m sorry if we woke you,’ I offered. ‘We were trying to be quiet.’

She waved a hand dismissively. ‘It was Arabella rather than you. She thinks she’s the size of your dog, Fuzzy.’ Fuzzy was a ridiculous name for a dog: Fuzzy was a name for a muppet.

‘Fluffy,’ I corrected flatly. ‘Arabella would be a single-bite snack for him.’ I looked at Mum’s pooch in warning in case she was half as smart as my canine and could understand.

My four-legged companions had disappeared and I assumed they were in my bedroom; they both seemed a little allergic to the Pomeranian. Who could blame them?

After the tea had brewed, I put some milk in Mum’s and searched the cabinet for some biscuits. They were gone, eaten by me on a lonely day. I groaned inwardly; I hadn’t been to the market for a while.

I passed her the tea and we sipped in awkward silence. Well, this wouldn’t do. We wouldn’t get anything resolved if we didn’t speak. ‘We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation, Mum,’ I started.

She sipped her tea carefully, avoiding my eyes. I was breaking the rules; we’d always used tea to avoid conversation. ‘I know that was upsetting for you,’ she said carefully, setting down her cup. She laid her hands primly in her lap.

Upsetting? She’d uprooted my whole existence and she thought I was upset? I wasn’t upset, I was fucking furious. I wanted to scream at her but I held it together and forced myself to take another drink before I spoke. ‘I’m not upset; I’m hurt and angry. Imagine how you’d feel if your parents had lied to you your entire life. It’s a lot to take in. To accept.’ To forgive.

She sighed. ‘We didn’t have a choice, Elizabeth. You should have been a strong and powerful witch but your powers never manifested. We couldn’t tell you the truth because you weren’t a supernat. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we weren’t so closely aligned with Octavius, but we were. Are. We have to follow the letter of the law – we couldn’t tell you and risk him finding out that you knew. It was bad enough when you discovered vampires existed. Gods, that was a headache and a half.’

It was time to confront what had been haunting me; I needed to know the truth. ‘Nana. She was a witch too?’

She must have been. I touched my triskele charm, remembered some odd things she’d said and done. I realised now that she’d been trying to let me know about the supernat world. She knew about my exceptional memory, and she’d hoped that if she dropped enough crumbs I’d put them together on my own.

She’d told me many times about the power of crystals but I’d dismissed it as ‘new-age nonsense’. More fool me: I’d remained clueless. My vaunted powers of memory and observation had failed me because I hadn’t wanted to see.

Mum nodded and her chest puffed out with pride. ‘Yes, dear, she was. You come from a long line of powerful fire elemental witches.’

For fuck’s sake. A long line – and for the longest time I’d been the dud who was ignorant of her fiery heritage. Well, I wasn’t ignorant now.

I knew what I could do with the flames within me, but for some reason I didn’t tell mum. Maybe I’d tell her after we’d had time to bond. A child-like part of me wanted her approval without my magic. Let her think I was an ordinary vampire – that would do for now.

‘Fire?’ I asked casually, as if I didn’t know full well what she was talking about.

‘Yes, fire. Of course, I can do many other things with magic but fire comes naturally, like breathing. The other magics require gestures and incantations, rituals and potions.’ She paused. ‘Do you know any witches here?’

I thought of Elsa Wintersteen, Shirley Thompson and Vitus Vogler. Without exception, they’d all been a tad deadly. ‘Um, yes,’ I said blandly. ‘I’ve met a few.’ I tried to think of a good witch that I’d met and Sigrid popped into my mind right away. I’d almost forgotten about Gunnar’s invite for dinner. ‘Actually, talking of witches, we’re invited to my boss’s house for supper tomorrow. His wife is a witch.’

Mum brightened and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, how delightful. Do you know what manner of witch she is?’

‘She’s a hearth witch – at least that’s what Gunnar calls her. I’ve never asked her directly.’ I waited for my mother’s face to screw into a moue of distaste at something so lowly, but her smile broadened.

‘Wonderful. I love a good hearth witch – they have such beautiful homes and cook such delicious food.’ She hesitated then added, ‘Hilda is a hearth witch.’

I blinked. ‘Hilda? Our cook?’

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