Consciousness returned, and immediately I began a quick check of my surroundings. I had long since trained myself out of the long, traditional moaning and where am I and can I have another five minutes school of getting up. As soon as I wake up, I need to know where I can run away to, where I am running away from, and then and only then do I bother to check if there is anything to run away from, because then I at least know where I'm going. People may call me a coward, but cowards live longer.
I was in a small, dark and enclosed space. Remembering the events of the night before, I realised that I was still in the boot of the BMW. There was no sound of movement outside. I slowly turned around a couple of times to see where if there is any way to get out . My fingers scrabble in the dark to find a catch on the inside, helped by my heightened senses. As I search for a way out of my prison, I hear footsteps approaching. As the steps come towards the boot of the car, I return my eyes to their normal levels, anticipating what will come next.
The car boot opens, and the light from the naked bulb in the ceiling still makes me screw my eyes up. I am bodily lifted out of the car, and as quickly as I can I get my bearings. I'm being hoisted into the air by two huge wolf creatures, the same as the night before, only with a grey-white fur rather than ginger. I' m in a garage, with a single light bulb overhead. The building itself is old, and was probably once a stable, and the only modern addition is the electrified garage door at the far end of the room. Bits of riding tack hang from the otherwise plain walls . In front of me stands my old school friend, who once again seems to be finding something amusing. Now dressed somewhat more formally that last night in a suit with a short skirt, she' s considerably shorter than I am, and now I am lifted off my feet by her two associates.
"I don't like this, Lady Myre." growls one of the wolf creatures slowly, enunciating with great care. I realise that it is addressing my old friend.
"Oh stop worrying Stands. It's not as if he's any danger. I took him alone last night."
I smile quietly to myself at the innuendo. My old friend, now 'Lady Myre' inclines her head and I'm dropped to the floor, and I find myself on my knees.
"Hello again . . ." and she says my old name again, the one she knew me by.
"It's Ned now."
"Ned?"
"I'm called Ned now, usually Uncle Ned. Like you're now Lady Myre."
"Things change."
The two bully boys are still in their man-wolf forms, and haven't spoken other than the short words of disapproval from one of them. I get the impression they' d much rather be doing something else, like ripping my head off and playing catch with it.
"What now?" I ask, afraid of what the answer might be.
"I don't know. I think we need to talk." she turns to the wolf boys. "You two go and 'change' into something more suitable and meet us in the drawing room."
With that she turns on her heel and walks swiftly out. I follow, almost jogging to keep up with the one person who, it seems, has slight reservations about using me to help the roses grow. It' s either that or stay with the other two, who it seems would have no compunctions in doing so.
The building is a manor house, probably built a short time before Columbus 'discovered' America. It is in buildings like this across the continent that many of the supernatural powers of Europe fight their battles. From what I can tell of the European elders I haven' t been able to run away from immediately, they are certainly proud that many of their present havens were built before the discovery of America, no matter what their upstart cousins might think about where the power is.
The mansion is, despite it's outward age, electrically lighted and warm. Open fireplaces dot the various rooms, but fortunately none of them are lit. We thread through various rooms until we reach what must be the drawing room. It's large and plush, although not overly ostentatious. With an indication from Lady Myre, I sink into one of the comfier looking seats while she reclines in a large leather swivel chair behind an impressive desk.
"Well . . ." she pauses for a couple of seconds ". . . Ned. We seem to have somewhat of a problem. Or rather," she grins, "you do. As you probably noticed, my friends were all too willing to tear you limb from limb, which I'd rather not happen. I wouldn' t call you a friend - you spent most of the time we knew each other making rude comments about me. But nevertheless, you were nice enough, in your own way. I got less trouble from you than from some others I could mention. So I' d rather not have you killed if I can possibly avoid it."
"Have you had a lot of people killed?" I ask, weakly.
"Oh yes." I can't believe she said that so casually! "And I've killed a considerable number myself. Haven't you?"
"No. Not one. I've been lucky."
"I thought all your kind did."
"We don't have to kill, we just have to take blood now and again. I don't like to. Kill, I mean. It's all messy, and people just don't deserve it. My sire told me that they didn' t feel much, and it was a good way to go, considering. But still, I don't. I haven't."
"Well, I think you're first of your kind I've met that doesn't regularly. Certainly the first that never has killed anyone."
"You've met others of my kind?"
"Briefly."
She means it. I'm quite scared now. Even if I die, the others will be at risk as well. I wonder if Solomon managed to find Little Blue before sunrise. I quietly hope he did. I steel my resolve. I'd better try to find out what' s going to happen, even if I'm not going to like the answer.
"So, what's going to happen to me?" I ask, then on a whim, I add "And remember you still owe me."
It's certainly true, and if she asks why, I may as well tell the truth about that as well.
"And what might that be?" she asks coldly, and I can feel claws on her every word.
"One strawberry ice-cream, plus about five years cumulative interest. I bought it when I was looking after your drama trip to Peter Pan, remember?"
She laughs out loud and, I'm relieved to observe, genuinely. This rather confuses the two thug boys dressed in open collar shirts and jeans that practically bulge with muscle who' ve just walked through to door. Something tells me these are the two from the yard, having 'changed' into something more suitable. They seem to act as 'First Guard' and 'Second Guard' , even to the point of the slightly larger of the two, First, who Myre had called 'Stands' doing most of the talking, while 'Second', who hadn't spoken yet, acting as an extension of the other.
"Is there a problem, Lady Myre?" asks the first one, Stands.
"Nothing." she says straight faced. "Ned here has just reminded me that I owe him a boon, which I am going to repay by sparing his life."
We glance at each other. Both our faces last only a couple of seconds before we both burst out in fits of laughter. I'm laughing more with relief than at the joke, but I don't care. I' m going to live. Probably. At least for the next few minutes. The laugher reaches the point where the two people stop for breath, pause, look at each other, then at the bemused ones who haven' t got the joke yet. A certain amount of decorum is returned, clothes are smoothed and Myre runs her fingers through her hair to push it back out of her eyes.
"Right," she says "Let's talk business."
I get the feeling that I'm not out of trouble yet . . .
Continued in Part 3
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