“The count never came to Aldercot,” Lizzie said in what she must have thought was a reassuring tone. “But his cousins did. And they never left.”
While I stared, dumbfounded, at the anagram Lizzie had scrawled upon the hearthstone, she sat back in the rocking chair and resumed knitting. The hissing fire and the clicking needles made me acutely aware of sounds that were missing from Lizzie’s house—the hum of a refrigerator, the rumble of a furnace, the ticking of a clock, the background noises I associated with normalcy. But I was so caught up in the abnormal by then that I found myself straining to hear a wolf’s howl rising from the valley or a bat’s claws scrabbling at the door. When Lizzie spoke, I jumped in fright and splashed tea across the spiky letters, making the soot run in rivulets, like black blood spilled upon the hearth.
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
95
“Keep your sons away from Aldercot,” she warned. “You can see yourself out.”
“Uh, yes,” I said, tearing my horrified gaze from the hearthstone and getting unsteadily to my feet. “Thank you for a . . . a fascinating evening. And for the tea.” I wiped my tea-streaked hand on my jeans, took my cup to the sink, put on my jacket, and headed for the door.
“Wait,” said Lizzie. She placed her knitting atop the balls of yarn in the wicker basket, stood, and pulled a string of shriveled red berries down from a hook on one of the rafters. She tied the string into a loop and hung it around my neck. “Rowanberries. The undead can’t abide rowans. I plant them around my fields to protect my fl ocks.”
I looked at the room’s tiny windows. “The trees arched around your windows, your door . . . ?”
“Rowans,” Lizzie confirmed. Without warning she seized my shoulders and drew me to her, until her cheek was nearly touching mine. “If you go there, go by day,” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s when they’re weakest.” She released me, turned toward her rocking chair, and said over her shoulder, “Good night, Lori Shepherd.”
“Good night,” I said.
I opened the door, hesitated, then stepped outside. I would never admit it to Bill or to Kit or to the incurably sensible Emma Harris, but without the rowanberries I might not have had the courage to face the darkness.
Eleven
F ew drives have tried my patience more severely than the one I took that night down Lizzie’s lane. Each dead leaf streaking past my windshield made me squeak like a
frightened mouse, and the headlights picked out grotesque shapes in the hedgerows—leering faces, staring eyes, twisted hands with grasping fi ngers.
I wanted to fly home at the speed of light, but I was forced instead to inch along at the speed of sludge, dodging potholes and bumping gingerly in and out of the yawning craters I couldn’t dodge. The only thing that kept me from panicking completely— and destroying what was left of Annelise’s car—was the wholly irrational but nonetheless comforting thought that the trees lining the lane might be rowans.
I floored the accelerator the moment I hit the paved road, and I didn’t lift my foot until I reached the safety of my driveway and saw the beautiful pools of bright, electric light spilling from the cottage’s many windows. Since I didn’t want Annelise, Will, or Rob to know how spooked I was, I took a moment to collect myself, then pasted a winning smile on my face and strode jauntily up the fl agstone path to the front door.
My hand was on the latch when I realized with a jolt that I was still wearing the rowanberry necklace. I removed it hastily, to avoid unwanted questions, stuffed it into my jacket pocket, hitched my smile back into place, and walked into the cottage.
“Mummy!”
The twins’ shouts and the familiar sound of their slippered feet pounding down the staircase turned my fake smile into a real one. I swept each of them into a hug and felt my tightly wound nerves Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
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unwind as I breathed in the tranquilizing scent of freshly bathed little boys.
Rob and Will helped me out of my jacket and my wellies, then came with me to the kitchen, where Annelise was dishing up a plate of rewarmed ham and scalloped potatoes for me. The boys chattered like magpies while I ate, telling me about the clay ponies they’d made at school, the flock of sheep that had blocked the road on their way home, and the new toy they’d brought home for Stanley, which turned out to be a ball of raw wool they’d retrieved from a hedgerow while waiting for the sheep to pass. Annelise assured me that she’d washed and dried the wool before presenting it to Stanley, who’d chased it all over the cottage before depositing it on Bill’s armchair.
I was still eating—and the twins were still chattering—when Bill called, so I handed the telephone to them. They kept their father occupied until I’d finished, then passed the telephone back to me and repaired to the living room to play with their knights and dinosaurs. Annelise went with them, to make sure that none of the pterodactyls “accidentally” fl ew into the fi re.