“The boys have seen one,” I informed him. “His name is Rendor, and he looks like this.”
As I held up Will’s wrinkled drawing, I could have sworn that Reginald shrank away from it. I knew that his apparent reaction was nothing more than an illusion of shifting shadows created by the dancing flames, but an involuntary shiver passed through me nonetheless as I took the blue journal down from its place on the bookshelves and settled into one of the tall leather armchairs that faced the hearth.
“Dimity?” I said, opening the journal. “Do you think Reginald believes in vampires?”
There was a long pause before the curving lines of royal-blue ink began to scroll gracefully across the page.
Good evening, Lori. I’m afraid that I don’t quite know how to answer you. You have addressed many curious questions to me over the years, but I cannot recall one as strikingly peculiar as the one you’ve just asked. Do I think that a small rabbit made of pink flannel believes in vampires? Are you entirely sober, my dear?
I grinned sheepishly. I could always rely on Aunt Dimity to tame my wilder fl ights of fancy.
“Yes, I’m sober,” I told her. “But I’m also . . . rattled. Bill and I had a private conference with Miss Archer this morning.”
Aunt Dimity’s handwriting sped across the page before I could Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
33
say another word. Oh, for pity’s sake, Lori. You’re not going on about Miss Archer again, are you? How many times must I tell you that she is NOT a vampire?
“I’m not talking about Miss Archer,” I said indignantly. “I’m talking about Rendor, the Destroyer of Souls.”
I see. No, on second thought, I do not see. Who on earth, or elsewhere, is Rendor, the Destroyer of Souls?
“He’s a character in a comic book,” I replied, and launched into a summary of the day’s many conversations, beginning with Miss Archer’s accusations and ending with Bill’s confident dismissal of the boys’ claims.
“Bill’s convinced that there’s nothing to worry about,” I concluded, “but I’m not so sure.”
I must say that I agree with you, Lori. Bill is quite wrong to dismiss the boys’ story out of hand.
A wave of gratitude welled up in me. “Then you believe Rob and Will?”
Why shouldn’t I? I’ve never known them to lie.
“That’s what I told Miss Archer,” I said eagerly. “I mean, the boys make up stories about their ponies and they pretend to be dinosaurs, but they’ve never told an outright whopper.”
I don’t think they’re doing so now. I believe they’re telling the truth.
Furthermore, I disagree with Kit’s assumption that the twins mistook an old tree for a vampirelike figure. Rob said that the figure swooped, didn’t he?
I’ve never known a tree to swoop.
“Me neither,” I said, wondering how I’d missed such an obvious fl aw in Kit’s argument.
The tree in question may, in fact, have blocked the figure from everyone’s view but the boys’. The cloaked figure—shall we call him Rendor, for simplicity’s sake?
“Sure,” I said, straining to keep up. I’d hoped that Aunt Dimity would take my part, but I hadn’t expected her to take it quite so vigorously. She was coming up with ideas that hadn’t even occurred to me.
34 Nancy Atherton
Rendor, then, may have chosen to stand in that particular spot because he wanted only the twins to see him. Perhaps he hoped to lure them farther into the woods.
“But what about Kit’s search?” I asked. “Kit checked out the place where Rendor had been standing. He didn’t find any evidence to suggest that anyone had been there.”
I’m not at all surprised to hear that Kit’s search for evidence proved fruitless. When the boys identified the figure as Rendor, they lost credibility with Kit. Since he believes that vampires are imaginary creatures, I suspect that he failed to search the area as thoroughly as he should have.
“In other words,” I said, nodding wisely, “Kit found nothing because he expected to fi nd nothing.”
Precisely.
I glanced at the portrait of Rendor and became momentarily fixated on his absurdly long canines. Will had colored the tips of the pointy teeth in a lurid shade of crimson. A chill crept down my spine as I tore my gaze away from the picture and turned back to the journal.
“Dimity?” I said. “What do you know about vampires?”
If you think I’m an expert on the subject because of my . . . affinity with the undead, you are sadly mistaken, Lori. I doubt if I know any more about vampires than you do.
“But you might,” I coaxed. “Please, Dimity, tell me what you know.”
Very well, if you insist, I’ll dredge up what I can from distant memory.