“Right.”
“On to Father Faith,” Angela said.
“Yes, please. And thanks.”
“He might be a Brit, but he’s a pure capitalist,” she said.“Apparently, he was asked to be a vampire in a B movie about fifteen yearsago—he had the look—and discovered it brought him all kinds of fame. He turnedthat into being a psychic, learning about tarot cards, tea leaves, and allmanner of fortune-telling and divination. He had two shops for a while, onenear the Tower of London, and the one in Highgate. Highgate brought in amassive clientele. He carries books written by all those associated with theHighgate vampire craze and more. I get the impression that he’s all for show.”
“Him, I did meet. And I agree. But that doesn’t mean heisn’t living a secret life.”
“Well, that’s what I have so far. If you need specifics ormore on different suspects, we’re here for you.”
“I know that, and thank you again.”
“How is Cheyenne doing?”
“She’s okay.”
“Another cousin after…well, losing a cousin all those yearsago. Do you think Emily is in danger?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what I think,” Andre said.“And I am trying to rush that along. We’re down to four days before Halloween.And—”
“Yes, Halloween is already crazy here! We’ve had to sendagents out on Halloween-related cases, as well. I didn’t think the Britsembraced the holiday the way we do, though.”
“They don’t go all in, but it’s becoming more popular. Butthis isn’t most of Britain. This is Highgate. Where some still believe invampires, vampire hunters, vampire kids…and a killer is stealing blood andlife. So…I guess that is a vampire, too.”
“By sick definition, yes. Okay. So, give Cheyenne our best,and call or text if you need anything. And, Andre,” she said seriously, “be careful.”
“Always.”
“Extra careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Adam is working on a diplomatic angle to get you moreaccess. I’ll be back in touch when I have something on that.”
“Sounds good.”
As he ended the call, he found himself looking at the frontsteps.
Someone had scrawled letters on the lower one.
He stooped low to read them and then groaned aloud.
Two words had been written in chalk.
Blood Night.
“What the hell does that mean?” he muttered aloud.
As he did so, the front door opened, and Cheyenne steppedout, frowning as she saw him crouched down, staring at the porch step andmuttering.
He shook his head, and she came down the steps to join him.
“Blood Night?” she read aloud, looking at him. “What thehell?”
“We have to call Inspector Adair on this,” Andre said toher.
“I believe it was the title of a movie.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s inreference to a rite, but I don’t know about all of that. And, as we know,anyone can make up their own church these days. But maybe it’s just a taunt.Someone who wants to make Emily and Eric look bad,” Cheyenne added hopefully.
Andre was already dialing Adair.
Emily came to the door, smiling. “Hey, guys, breakfast! Ericwanted to start early. He whipped up one of his fantastic major-league Englishbreakfasts. So much stuff…”
Her voice trailed off.
“Oh, God, what is it?” she asked.
“A prankster, probably,” Cheyenne said lightly.
Emily ran outside. She, too, hunkered down.
“Hey, Yankee bloke and lady!” Eric called playfully from thedoorway. “Breakfast—”
He fell silent and then walked out to join the others,stooping down, as well.
Eric phrased his question differently.
“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” hedemanded angrily.
Andre finally reached Inspector Adair and asked him to comeout. When he was finished with the call, he used his phone to take pictures ofthe writing on the step.
The others looked at him.
“Breakfast,” he said. “Go on in. I’ll join you as soon asAdair comes. I don’t want to take the chance of anyone erasing this before theinspector sees it.”
They all kept staring at him.
“I am excited about Eric’s cooking,” he assured them. “I’lljust be a few minutes.”
Emily and Eric kept staring. Their faces pale, stunned, andhe thought, scared.
“Hey, Andre’s got it,” Cheyenne finally said firmly, shooingthem toward the door. “Let’s go in. You’re not providing just pastries andjuice. I love a full English breakfast!”
Neither Emily nor Eric responded, but they let Cheyenneusher them back into the house.
Andre took a seat on the porch far enough away from thewriting so he didn’t mar or brush it with his legs.
And he waited, curious what Inspector Adair would think themessage meant.
* * * *
“It’s a fry-up over here, mostly because almost everythingis fried. Well, not the fruit and juice,” Eric said, obviously babblingsomewhat, determined to take Emily’s mind off the writing on their step. He lookedat Cheyenne. “So, voilà! You will see we have bangers—sausages to you, Ibelieve, though I know you’re familiar with the term—and bacon, fried eggs,fried tomatoes, and even the mushrooms are fried. Whoops, I didn’t fry thebread. That’s straight out of the toaster.”
“It all looks great. Right, Emily?” Cheyenne said.
Emily forced a plastic smile. “Lovely.”
“Shall we?” Cheyenne motioned to the food, glad she washungry. Because she, too, wanted to know what the hell the writing on the stepmeant.
She sat, looking up and waiting for her cousin and Eric,surely showing them that she couldn’t possibly begin to eat unless they joinedher.
They sat, and Eric picked up his fork.
Cheyenne grabbed her utensils and dug in, starting with thetomato and eggs.
“Wonderful!”
Both her cousin and Eric stared at her, so she set down herflatware. “Oh, please. Come on. That could have been a prank by a teenager. Itcould mean nothing at all.”
“You don’t believe that,” Emily said. “I don’t know allabout your criminology college courses or what you do with the Krewe ofHunters, but I know you all have some kind of gut instincts. You don’t believethat.”
“Everyone has gut instincts,” Cheyenne said. “Okay, I don’tknow what is going on yet. But we’ll be here until we figure it out. Okay? AndI know you two aren’t guilty of anything. We’ll get through all this.”
“You know Emily,” Eric said bleakly. “You don’t know me allthat well, Cheyenne. What if I’m a crazed killer and I don’t even know it?” Hepaused, turning to Emily. “Oh, God, Emily!”
“Eric, you’re not a crazed killer,” Emily said. She stoodand walked
