Page 29 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
Maybe because it wasn’t Jack. With a soft, heavy padding like a big cat, out of the shadowsmaterialized the tall, gaunt figure of a man.
Unearthly light flowed from cupped hands edged in ruffles to illuminate an austere, hollow-cheeked face framed by two sweeps of dark hair. Add to that a loose white shirt open at the neck, knee-breeches, and a general impression of looming menace, and you get the idea why I nearly did a quick Keturah on to the carpeted floor.
Then he looked up andsaw me, and I swear his eyes blazed an unearthly green-blue. He stopped dead and utteredin a low, hoarse voice: ‘Emma? My God, Emma, have you come back?’
That horrified, eerie whisper was the last straw. Dropping the saucer I turned to flee, running blindly into the darkness with the sound of his long, loping strides coming after me.
The gallery must have taken a turn at the end but I didn’t,running straight into a door and bruising my outstretched hands. Frantically I wrenched it open, slamming it behind me, heart racing; though don’t ask me why I thought a closed door would stop a ghost, or even why I’d run from one of the ghosts I’d come to see.
And it was pointless anyway, for I found myself in a walk-in cupboard and the ghosts were in there with me.
A chill current of air movedmy hair as something swooped low over my head – and I went berserk with panic.
It’s odd: you think you’ve subjugated your old demons, and then suddenly you’re right in the stuff of your worst nightmares and all the restraints are off. I was probably screaming like a banshee.
When the ghost wrenched open the door I ran right into him. Notthroughhim – he was far too solid for that. Solidandwarm.
So, not a vampire or anything either, then? Clasped to his chest by a sinewy arm I could hear his heart racing even faster than mine.
‘What the hell?’ he exclaimed.
‘The birds – don’t let the birds get me,’ I pleaded. ‘They’re in there!’
Still retaining a grip on me, my jailer (or rescuer, I didn’t then care which) lifted a small lantern high to illuminate the walk-in cupboard behindme, and observed ironically: ‘Open window – no birds to be seen. Most likely it was a bat, but it’s gone now whatever it was.’
He had an invigoratingly cold-water-running-over-gravel sort of voice now he wasn’t whispering.
Reluctantly removing my face, neatly imprinted with chest hair patterns, from the neck of a shirt opened so far that his swash was almost unbuckled, I took a deep, relievedbreath. ‘A bat? Of course, how silly of me! And Ilikebats,’ I said, pushing myself away shakily, although not very far since he didn’t let go of my arm. ‘Sorry about that! But I wasn’t expecting to see a total stranger – especially dressed like that!’
‘Neither was I,’ he said thoughtfully, setting his candle lantern down on a little side table and regarding me through narrowed eyes. A trickof the flickering light made them glow aquamarine again, and his expression was so gloweringly unpleasant that the cupboard began to seem almost the better option.
‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’ he demanded.
‘I’m C-Cass Leigh, a local horror writer, and I’ve got permission,’ I stammered, unable for a few long minutes to drag my eyes away from his: and it wasn’t just because I wasmentally registering all the dark, edgy, don’t-mess-with-me vibes he was radiating either, but because I felt an unexpected and scary tug of attraction.
It didn’t seem to be mutual, for he frowned down at me and said: ‘You look familiar … but where from?’
‘Perhaps you’ve seen my picture on a book jacket?’ I asked hopefully. That picture wasgorgeous.It didn’t look like me in the least, really.Even my hair looked inoffensively black instead of its real dark dried-blood colour.
‘No, I think I saw you near the graveyard last night,’ he said slowly. ‘In that cloak, too. But weren’t you wearing teeth?’
‘I still am, all my own.’
‘No, pointed ones. You’re a part-time vampire?’
‘Yes, and I’d just done a Crypt-ogram.’
‘Cryptogram?’ he exclaimed incredulously. ‘Are you trying to tell meyou were doing puzzles in the graveyard?’
‘No, of course not – it’s like a singing telegram. You get dressed up and do birthday parties and stuff.’
He regarded me narrowly. ‘So you’ve been doing one tonight, then?’
‘No, why? Oh, you mean the cloak? It’s just so warm, and although it’s a bit much for everyday I do love purple velvet. Why wait until I’m old to wear it?’
‘Why indeed?’ he saiddryly.
‘So what’syourexcuse for that get-up?’ I enquired coldly.
