CHAPTER TWO
‘Ouf!’
Hannah hefted another gnome onto the low shelf of the entrance display area, and then stretched the kinks out of her back before heading back to the outside pallet for the last time.
Moving one gnome wasn’t a problem because they didn’t weigh much. But moving twenty of the little blighters was like an extreme workout in a gym. The good thing about physical work was that a.) she didn’t need to pay for a gym subscription, and b.) it kept her warm when she was working in the greenhouses or the outdoor sections of the garden centre.
She eyed the last gnome, the one which she had already decided was going to prove most problematic. It stared back at her out of limpid blue eyes that would have been friendly, if not for his little half smile which was full of malicious mischief.
Hannah bared her teeth at him. ‘You’re going into that display whether you like it or not, Gnomie.’
She hated gnomes.
Unfortunately, they were quite popular and, especially since the garden centre had started stocking unusual ones, they had been flying off the shelves as Christmas gifts. So here she was, restocking the gnome shelves late on a Friday afternoon. Twilight had set in outside. Soon it would be dark and time to go home.
She blew on her chilly fingers, surprised they weren’t turning blue. So far, she’d shelved Christmas gnomes, biker gnomes, mooning gnomes, even zombie gnomes. In fact, the only kind of gnome missing from her display was a vampire one, which was strange considering they were within spitting distance of Whitby, a town renowned the world over for its pasty-faced neck-biters.
That was something she could commission for her own business – when she finally had enough loot to launch it.
Vampire gnomes …
Hannah’s thoughts spun from pointy-toothed gnomes to the man who had driven out of the storm a few nights ago. There was still no sign of Ivy at the house, and nobody seemed to know she was even missing, let alone where she had gone.
Hannah hadn’t seen anything of the stranger either, despite scrutinising Abbey Villa closely whenever she got home from work. The front door and downstairs curtains remained mysteriously closed, and the only indication that she had not imagined his dramatic arrival was the large black car with tinted windows that was still parked on the drive.
Hannah remembered that brief snapshot she’d got of the stranger as lightning flashed overhead. The swirling black cloak, the white blur of his face, his extraordinary height …
She shuddered.
There had been something surreal about the whole thing, and even more bizarre was that she hadn’t seen anyone come in or out the house since that night.
Ah well, mooning over a strange man wasn’t going to levitate the gnome from the pallet over to the display. This one wasn’t hollow either, like most of the others. This gnome was one of the original sculptures brought in from time to time by local crafts people, and was made of solid sandstone.
Grabbing the offending gnome by the neck, she lifted it, waddling with it towards all its other not cute relatives.
Headlights swept into the almost empty car park, dazzling Hannah and distracting her from the gnome. Not ungratefully, she plunked it down and watched as a large black car drew up in a space about twenty yards from where she was working.
Her heart lurched, and she straightened, staring.
It was the mysterious black car from Ivy’s driveway, she was almost sure of it. But was Shadow Man himself driving it? That would clinch it.
Suddenly, making her jump visibly, there was a burst of evil cackling from the lower half of her dungarees. It was her phone alarm, going off in the voluminous front pocket, which was set to sound like maniacal laughter. Katy had chosen that setting for her a few weeks back as a joke, and she had forgotten to change it.
Swearing under her breath, she fumbled for the phone and cut the alarm reminder.
Fifteen minutes to closing time.
Had he heard that?
Keeping one eye surreptitiously on the dark-tinted windows of the black car, from which nobody had yet emerged, she lugged the gnome another few yards. It was ridiculously heavy. She felt like a competitor in the Strongest Man in the World Competition, only without the potential rewards.
Hannah was bent over the gnome, red-faced and panting, when a pair of black boots materialised in her vision.
‘Hello,’ a male voice said.
Slowly, she straightened up, her gaze travelling past a strong pair of thighs clad in black jeans, a black T-shirt showing off flat, muscular abs, and a long black coat that flared outwards like a cloak, framing a pale face with a pair of startlingly green eyes.
Good grief.
She had been about to reply with a cheery, ‘Hello,’ but now her breath had caught, lodged like a wishbone somewhere in her throat, and all she could do was stare.
To say this man was handsome would be to call the sea blue. It couldn’t possibly cover the sheer depth of his beauty which, to Hannah, standing outside in the gloom and cold of the wintry evening, seemed almost supernatural. Her first impressions of him had been eerily close to the truth. He was indeed tall, his hair black but without the dark-blue sheen that some black hair could carry. His complexion was pale without the rosy bite that cold, Yorkshire weather could bring to cheeks up north, and there was no lightening of his expression as he regarded her sombrely in turn.
‘Can I give you a hand with that?’
The words were spoken in a deep, rich voice, so melodic and mesmerising that Hannah had to shake her head to get rid of the effects.
Pity that she couldn’t get rid of her weak knees by shaking them too.
‘Erm, no, thank you. I can do it.’ She summoned a smile from somewhere, adding inanely, ‘I love carrying gnomes. They keep me from slouching.’
It was kind of the man to offer, but the last thing she wanted was for the Lucky Parrot Garden Centre to be sued by a customer for putting his back out.
Hefting the stone gnome again, she carried it rather too quickly, legs akimbo, the last few exhausting yards where she dumped it with relief, straight onto her foot. Although she was wearing boots, they didn’t have steel toe caps, and the pain radiated throughout her foot and straight up her calf.
Tears came to her eyes, and she couldn’t prevent an agonised yelp from escaping, although she did manage not to hop around like some demented cartoon character.
‘How c-can I help you, sir?’ she managed to stutter when she finally regained the power of speech. She hoped he wouldn’t ask for anything that would mean walking or lifting, since the only way to ease her pain at the moment was to stand on one foot, keeping the weight off her injured one. Which pretty much excluded her from being able to help him in any capacity whatsoever, she conceded silently, but continued to smile.
‘I’d like some dirt, please.’
His eyes are incredibly green, she thought in amazement, staring into their depths, and then belatedly realised what he had said.
Hannah blinked. ‘Sorry? Did you say, dirt?’
‘Yes, you know, dirt. The stuff you find in flower beds.’
Hannah stiffened at his tone, which was laconic and mocking. ‘Do you mean topsoil?’ she asked. ‘Because if so, which one would you prefer? Our multipurpose bag, our enriched topsoil, our horticultural grit, or maybe our topsoil lawn dressing?’
The tart bullet points hung there in the air between them, but if she expected him to be in any way chastised she was disappointed. Instead, a knowing smile lurked in his eyes as he said, ‘Enriched topsoil sounds about right,’ although it didn’t reach his lips. And what nice lips they were. Sensuous and…
Goodness, what on earth was she doing, thinking about his lips?
‘Fine, we … erm …’ She stuttered on, trying to regain her train of thought. ‘We sell it in twenty-litre bags but we can also deliver by the ton.’
‘I’d like four bags delivered, please?’
Hannah led him through to the tills for payment, but after she’d rung up the sale and handed him the receipt, Shadow Man pointed to a small display of wooden chests, asking, ‘What’s the biggest size you do in those boxes?’
‘I think the largest size we stock is at the bottom.’ Together they dismantled the display of wooden boxes, finally exposing the largest chest.
He regarded it assessingly. ‘I guess that would probably come up to my shoulder.’ In one graceful movement, he went down on his haunches, his black coat spreading like a dark puddle on the floor. Lifting the wooden lid, he peered inside at the range of partitions. ‘Good, these can all be removed.’ He tested one and it popped out easily. ‘How long is this box? About five-foot long?’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘Do you stock any six-foot ones?’ Six feet? That would be his own height, more or less. Hannah’s gaze went from the box to him and back to the box.
What the hell?
‘Erm, I’m afraid you’d probably need to have one custom-made if you wanted it to be any longer than five-foot. I don’t think our stockist supplies boxes that size. But I can make some enquiries.’
‘It would need to be a bit deeper as well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Okay, I’ll wait and see what your enquiries turn up.’
‘Sure. I just need to check the diary to arrange a convenient delivery slot. I’ll also need a few personal details from you.’
He swivelled to look at her from under frowning brows. The green eyes narrowed on her face. ‘Personal details?’
‘Your … address.’ She willed herself not to blush, but it was hard, the way he was staring at her so intently. Had he guessed she already knew where he was staying? Or seen her peering across the road at Ivy’s house first thing this morning? Though with the early starts she’d been getting, it was usually still dark when she left for work. ‘And a contact number, so I can let you know what I find out about the box.’
‘Of course.’
‘If you could wait here, sir? I won’t be long.’ Hannah limped back to reception, still in considerable pain and silently cursing that massive gnome, only to discover the diary was not there.
‘Katy? Have you seen the delivery diary?’
Katy, who was typing madly on the computer, looked round at her with a dazed expression. ‘Diary? I think Mr Turner had it last.’
‘Great.’ She hesitated, glancing back at Shadow Man, who was now examining a shelf of scented candles in glass jars, and then lowered her voice. ‘I’ve got a customer waiting. Can you keep an eye on him?’
‘No problem.’ Katy nodded absentmindedly, shooting him a quick look over her shoulder, then turned properly, her eyes widening. ‘Wow, who’s he?’
‘I told you, he’s a customer.’
She couldn’t wait for this day to be over, Hannah reflected, hobbling on towards the office without waiting to hear Katy’s response. Her bruised foot felt like it was turning black-and-blue.
Hannah had wearily begun searching Mr Turner’s desk for the elusive diary when she realised Chadwick was out of his cage. The parrot flew to her shoulder and nibbled on her ear. ‘Tart,’ he said affectionately, and then dropped to the floor and waddled under the desk, no doubt in hope of a few misplaced seed husks. Mr Turner was always feeding him little titbits, which was probably why he was getting rather rotund.
To her relief, Hannah finally located the diary under some papers, but looked up in surprise when a shadow darkened the glass panel of the door.
Her customer appeared in the doorway. He must have moved very quietly because she hadn’t heard a sound. Why on earth had Katy let him come back here?
She opened her mouth to tell him she’d found the diary, and Chadwick suddenly shouted, ‘Feck off! Feck off!’
She looked in horror at the man standing in the doorway. His eyebrows had drawn up in the centre and his eyes had narrowed to green slits.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Hannah said quickly, ‘I didn’t -’
‘Feck off!’
Chadwick flew out from under the desk, skimmed the top of her head as he sailed past, tried to land on the standard lamp, miscalculated and knocked it to the floor with a clatter. Startled, he performed another fly-by over Hannah’s head, this time deploying his own unique brand of missile. With unerring aim, he fired a large dollop of white goo into the centre of Hannah’s upturned forehead.
‘Chadwiiiick!’ For that second, Hannah’s screech matched the parrot’s.
In the doorway, the man’s eyebrows were now raised over eyes brimming with amusement. The wicked humour spread to his lips, and then a loud guffaw broke out, and he rocked with laughter. Oh, if only it hadn’t been at her expense. Mortified colour ran under her skin until her face felt quite scorched with shame.
Oh god!
She stumbled past him and out of the office, her head tilted at a slight angle to prevent the parrot poop from slipping any further down her face, trying desperately to hold onto the last shreds of her dignity.
‘Excuse me, I … ’ She left Shadow Man behind, who was manfully trying to suppress his laughter. Passing a wide-eyed Katy, she said through gritted teeth, ‘Take over for me, please. I need to …’
She left the words unsaid, and made for the staff toilets in an ungainly fashion, sure her colleague would not need her mission spelt out.
By the time she had washed her face and got rid of the gooey bits stuck in her fringe, the customer was nowhere to be seen. Peering through the darkened window, she realised his car was no longer in the car park, and told herself that she was glad he had gone. She had not been looking forward to facing him again. Not after Chadwick’s charming little stunt.
When she finally dragged herself back to reception, Katy waved her over, looking excited. ‘Check this out,’ she said, pointing to the latest entry in the diary. ‘He lives near you.’
Unable to resist, Hannah leant over the diary and read out loud, ‘Daniel Elliott, Abbey Villa, Greenhowsyke Lane.’
That was indeed Ivy’s house. But what on earth was going on? she wondered. Where had Ivy gone at such short notice? And what connection did this ‘Daniel Elliott’ character have with the old lady? Ivy had never mentioned him before. Hannah would have remembered. Yet they must be pretty close for him to be passing off her address as his own.
Noisily, the metal shutters began to descend over the front entrance doors, creaking and rattling.
Looking as tired as she felt, Sam joined them at reception a moment later, wearing a pair of large, red felt antlers and a flashing badge that said, ‘Rudolph’. Hannah tried not to stare at his antlers, glad that Camille had not yet forced her to wear something silly and festive to ‘get the customers in the mood’. Though if she had, it might have taken the brunt of Chadwick’s deposit and saved her a world of humiliation.
Yawning behind his hand, Sam squinted down at Katy’s tiny scrawl in the diary. He was twenty-five but liked to act younger, driving his souped-up car rather too fast through the narrow lanes, and wearing his dark hair in a spiky tuft at the front. Though the antlers were doing a good job of disguising his tuft at the moment.
One day he would have to grow up, Hannah thought, and tried not to smile at the prospect. It wouldn’t be any day soon, that was for sure.
‘What are you two looking at?’ Sam asked.
‘A new customer’s delivery address.’ Katy’s face was agog with curiosity. ‘It’s right opposite Hannah’s cottage. But she doesn’t know him!’
‘Yes, that’s definitely Ivy’s address. But I can’t imagine why he’s staying there, or where Ivy has vanished to,’ Hannah said, her forehead pleating in a worried frown. ‘And he’s so mysterious looking too. That long black coat … ’
‘Oh, you mean the guy who bought all the crickets?’
Hannah looked at him sharply. ‘Crickets?’
‘Yup. He nipped in and bought them while you were hiding in the toilets.’
‘I wasn’t hiding,’ Hannah said grimly. ‘I was washing.’
‘Washing what?’
‘My … hands,’ she said lamely, suddenly unwilling to expose herself to yet more mockery.
‘Whatever.’ Sam gave a snort of derision. ‘Anyway, when I handed him the box of crickets, do you know what he said?’ The two girls looked at him blankly, and he sighed. ‘OK, then. I’ll tell you. He said, ‘They look tasty.’’ He paused significantly. ‘What do you think of that, eh? Pretty chilling words.’
Hannah gave an abrupt laugh.
Thankfully nobody commented on the slightly hysterical edge to it.
‘Come on, he was joking,’ she said firmly.
‘I don’t know, maybe he’s going to have them for tea. People can be strange.’ He studied the delivery details upside-down. ‘What else is he having delivered? Four bags of … topsoil? And he wants to know if the suppliers make a six-foot wooden box?’ His eyes widened. ‘Good god.’
‘Don’t, Sam,’ Hannah said warningly.
‘But you know what this means … ’ Sam crooked his fingers into claws and leaned towards them, his face twisted in a menacing way. ‘Soil. A large wooden crate. Crickets for a tasty snack. He’s a vampire!’
Hannah shuddered, then gave him a shove. ‘Don’t be silly. Vampires don’t eat crickets.’
‘But their minions do.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s holding a vampire dinner party for all his weirdo friends.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Katy rolled her eyes, and reached for her handbag. ‘Time to go home. I hate to tell you this, but vampires don’t exist, Sam.’
She had laughed at the time, agreeing with Katy. Vampires didn’t exist. They were a fictional construct. Fact.
But walking home that night, Hannah was suddenly less sure that Katy was one hundred percent right. She didn’t really believe in all that superstitious nonsense, of course. She was occasionally quirky, but she wasn’t actually crazy.
Something very odd was going on, that was for sure. And she was determined to work out what it was.
Her mind started going over the evidence.
Shadow Man – wait, she ought to think of him as Daniel Elliott now that she knew his name – had arrived after dark in a car with tinted windows. The curtains in Ivy’s house had not been opened since he arrived. He had ordered eighty litres of topsoil. What did vampires need soil for? Did they cover themselves in it? Like being in a grave? Hannah shuddered at the unpleasant thought. Then he had enquired about buying a box large enough to sleep in. Plus, he had only appeared in the garden centre at twilight, with the sun safely below the horizon. Add to that the striking paleness of his complexion, the ability he had to turn her knees weak, and the deep timbre of his mesmerising voice and…
Well, it didn’t look good.
Even if vampires didn’t exist – and, after all, absence of evidence wasn’t evidence of absence – there was still something very unusual about Daniel Elliott.
Fishy, even.
As she approached Abbey Villa, she spotted Daniel Elliott’s black car on the drive. So Shadow Man was home for the night. Yet the dark house opposite looked more sinister and deserted than ever, she thought. There were no lights on and the curtains were all drawn. Perhaps he was a very early riser and liked to go to bed as soon as it got dark. Or perhaps he was awake, but sitting there on his own in the dark …
Hannah shivered as she let herself into her small, remote cottage. For the first time since moving in, she felt a deep sense of isolation and flicked the lights on quickly, the bright spotlights soon dispelling her fears.
Pepper wandered out of the kitchen with a plaintive yowl, as though he too was in need of some reassurance.
Hannah picked him up and gave him a cuddle, glad of his soft warmth and friendly purr.
‘Glad to see you haven’t attacked the tree today, Pepper.’
While she cooked dinner with the radio on in the background, she talked the cat through all the odd things that had been happening that day, and finished, ‘So if it’s all right with you, I’ll be using a lot of garlic in my supper tonight.’
To be extra-sure, she scattered a few cloves on her front and back doorstep.
‘They say vampires can’t cross the threshold without an invitation,’ she told Pepper, who was watching her quizzically, his head on one side, ‘but let’s make certain, shall we?’
She’d just finished washing the dirty pans from her supper, and was settling down with a refreshing cup of tea when a car drove slowly past her cottage. Then another car went by at the same snail’s pace. Both seemed to stop a moment later, their engines dying to silence. It was when the third car pulled up outside that Hannah crept over to the window to take a cautious look through the curtains.
The vehicles had turned into Ivy’s driveway and parked up behind Daniel Elliott’s black car. Once all the headlights were off, Hannah could just distinguish several shadowy figures getting out. No voices carried to her across the dark road, and the figures were soon swallowed up by the black hole of the front doorway, almost as if they had never existed.
She hesitated, staring at the gloomy, downstairs windows of Ivy’s house.
What on earth?
She watched for another few minutes, and was about to turn away when there was a faint high-pitched cry. Then a louder scream, possibly an owl, more likely a human.
Hannah dropped the curtain, breathing fast.
‘Right, come on, Pepper,’ she said to the cat, who was already sniffing at the cat flap, his tail twitching, ears pricked up, as though eager to go out exploring but not quite daring to on his own. ‘I’m sick of all these mysterious comings and goings. I want answers, and I’m bloody well going to get them tonight. You coming?’
Pausing only to grab a jacket against the cold, Hannah slipped out of the cottage, leaving the front door on the latch. Creeping up Ivy’s driveway with Pepper trailing after her, she carefully picked her way around the parked cars, keeping to the grass and avoiding the gravel paths so nobody would hear her coming.
Down the pathway that ran beside the house, a weak sliver of light was struggling against the darkness. Hannah made her way towards it, walking on tiptoe. The light was coming from the window of the large kitchen diner.
Luckily, Hannah had helped Ivy in the garden quite often and knew her way around it. Underneath the window was an old Perspex cold frame; she used one corner of it to boost herself up onto the high sill. Unfortunately, the sill was slippery with frost. After a few dodgy seconds, scrabbling back and forth, she was almost stabilised when another loud scream tore through the silence.
The scream was so sudden and so close that she rocked backwards in shock, nearly falling off her perch. Heart pounding, Hannah struggled to catch her balance, clutching at the wall with her fingernails.
Don’t fall, she told herself fiercely. Whatever you do, don’t fall.
Kneeling precariously on the hard ledge, she pressed her eye to the gap in the curtains, uncertain what she might see inside.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary cocktail party. Even though the room was L-shaped and she couldn’t see everything, she counted about ten people standing around, drinks in hand, chatting. Dim lighting, aided by the embers glowing in the grate, and an intimate ambiance were just what one would expect of a cosy party.
On closer inspection though, something wasn’t right. For one thing, the guests were all too beautiful to be real. And they seemed to be posed, like a display of mannequins, rather than standing about naturally. The screams she’d heard didn’t bode well either, though nobody in the room appeared to be that distressed. But maybe that latest scream had come from another part of the house.
Someone being held prisoner in an upstairs bedroom, perhaps?
Pressing her nose closer to the window, Hannah recognised one of the men there as Daniel Elliott. Even from the back, there was no mistaking that tall, dark figure. Then he turned, and she saw the intense green glow of his eyes.
Definitely her Shadow Man.
As she watched, he took a bottle and poured a drink that looked like wine, handing the glass to a stunning, willowy woman with long black hair, who took it with a grateful smile. She sipped the deep red drink, and flirted outrageously with Daniel, batting long, mascara-coated eyelashes that were clearly fake. Then the woman turned away, helping herself to something from a glass dish on the sideboard. She had long, scarlet-painted nails – also fake, Hannah thought with pursed lips – and she was carefully selecting a …
No, it couldn’t be.
Hannah’s eyes widened as she recognised the pile of round, whitish objects in the dish.
Eyeballs!
She stared in horror at the eyeballs, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. What in the name of all that was holy … ?
Then she looked up and met Daniel’s gaze. His gaze locked with hers, dark and glowering, and she felt her heart lurch into hops and jolts like a terrified rabbit.
No way, she told herself. No way could he have seen her.
Yet he was still staring straight at her through the tiny gap in the curtains.
Suddenly, something soft and warm bumped Hannah’s hand.
With a yelp she jerked round, startled, and lost her precarious balance on the sill. Unfolding like an ungainly deckchair, she tipped backwards, struggling to right herself rather than land on her back, and managed to get one foot down first, thankfully her good one.
With the most incredible crack, loud as a gunshot in the silence, her foot crashed straight through the Perspex top of the cold frame.
Staggering backwards, she came down hard on her bottom on the frosty ground, one foot in the broken cold frame and the other foot up in the air, waving about uselessly.
Staring up at the windowsill, she saw her own cat staring down at her, eyes huge as saucers, clearly as freaked out by her abrupt descent as she was.
‘Pepper!’