“Oh, give those biscuits over, Merry!” exclaimed Thurston in a booming aside. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Merrihew testily. She took one last biscuit, her fourth, and put the plate on the table. “But we haven’t had a visitor here for years!”
“There’s not a lot to work with, these names,” said Vivien. “But we might be able to do more with the mundane stuff. I know Inspector Greene has already checked you out, and we have that file coming over. Again, I apologize, I know it seems intrusive—”
“It is intrusive!”
“Yes. I . . . we apologize. But it has to be done. As the file isn’t here yet, for my notes, if you wouldn’t mind . . . your date and place of birth? I’m presuming you have a birth certificate, but it doesn’t list your father?”
“Yes, father unknown and May first, 1965,” replied Susan. “Why do you keep looking at each other?”
“I’m reet sorry, lass,” replied Thurston, his Yorkshire accent growing stronger. “It’s the May Day birthday, it’s significant. The Old World comes closer to the New at certain times, and that’s one of them.”
“May first,” said Vivien thoughtfully. “Do you know the time you were born?”
“Dawn,” said Susan. “With the sun, Mum always said. Maybe encouraged by the name of the pub where it happened.”
“What was that name, and where was this pub?” asked Vivien.
“The Sunne in Splendour, in a village a couple of miles outside Glastonbury. Mum was visiting some of her musician friends who lived near there in what she says was ‘decayed grandeur,’ and I came early. She was going to the hospital but only got as far as the pub.”
“Glastonbury,” mused Thurston. “The Vale of Avalon . . .”
“You said before you used to come to London on your birthday,” said Merlin eagerly. “May first. Were you here, in London I mean, on May first, 1977?”
“My twelfth birthday,” replied Susan. “Yes.”
“Do you remember where you stayed, where you went?” asked Merlin. He held up his hand as Vivien tried to interrupt.
“Where we always stayed, this very run-down hotel near Victoria Station. I think Mum knew the family who owned it; they gave her a good deal. It isn’t there anymore—they knocked it down and built an office block. We stopped coming here when it closed, that was three years ago. Why?”
Merlin looked at Vivien.
“Mother was killed on May Day 1977, less than a mile from Victoria Station. We never found out who she was getting the flowers for . . . and she was attacked by thugs whose minds had been tampered with, like the two who came to snatch Susan today. It has to be connected somehow!”
“Coincidence!” snapped Merrihew. “There’s no evidence of anything else.”
“It is a very slight similarity,” said Thurston. “When you’ve been on this earth as long as I have, Merlin, you’ll see many things are simply coincidence, or accidents.”
“I want to investigate,” said Merlin with determination.
“Not on the firm’s time,” said Merrihew.
Thurston sighed and rubbed the bridge of his beaky nose with his gloved hand. “Merrihew governs the left-handed, but you’re entitled to follow it up in your own time. Right now, finding Miss Susan’s father is something we probably need to do sooner rather than later. Vivien, you can lead on that research. Merry, you agree?”
“I suppose so,” said Merrihew, dabbing crumbs from her mouth with a black handkerchief. “It’s very annoying that this should come up now, when the old carp is rising in the quarry pond. But it seems this girl is a focus for something, so I suppose more information is needed in order to deal with her appropriately.”
“You’re a very rude person,” said Susan stiffly. “I’m not ‘this girl.’ I have a name. And what does ‘deal appropriately’ mean?”
“I am a rude person,” agreed Merrihew.
“Happen we’d best set someone to watch over her,” said Thurston. “Until we know what’s what.”
“Is that really necessary?” asked Merrihew.
“Yes,” said Merlin.
Merrihew looked at Merlin.
“You’re on light duties, aren’t you? I suppose you can look after . . . Susan.”
“What? By myself?” asked Merlin. “I need at least four of us for round the clock—”
“Everyone’s busy,” interrupted Merrihew. “You can stay at Mrs. London’s until we get this sorted out. I’ll square it with Greene.”
“You said there was a Kexa prowling the warded perimeter at the Milner Place house last night?” asked Thurston, his voice dubious.
Merlin nodded.
“That might also be a coincidence,” said Merrihew dismissively. “But in any case it can’t get through the wards.”
“Other things might,” said Merlin. “And there is the criminal angle.”
“That is somewhat unusual,” said Thurston. “Though such things are sometimes attracted by the mere presence of any magical protections.”
Merlin did not look convinced.
“I’ll have whoever’s driving the cabs tonight swing past when they can,” said Merrihew, waving a dismissive hand. “That should prove more than sufficient.”
Merlin nodded unhappily. Clearly, he thought this was not enough.
“You think there’s going to be . . . more’s going to happen?” asked Susan.
“Nay,” said Thurston, pouring the last dregs from the teapot into his cup.
“No,” said Merrihew, shoving another biscuit in her mouth.
“Yes,” said Merlin.
Chapter Eight
Old, old it was, and keen
Keen as a blade
Blade-thin and thirsty
Thirsty for blood
Blood for its drinking
“THE YOUNG ONES WILL FRET,” SAID THURSTON TO SUSAN, IGNORING Merlin. “But likely as not, there’s nowt to worry about and we’ll track down your dad in due course. So off you go—”
He stopped speaking suddenly and stiffened up, like a dog catching a scent, tilting his massive head to the side as if he were listening to someone or something that no one else present could hear.
Susan looked at Merlin, who lifted his hand slightly, gesturing to wait.
After ten seconds or so, Thurston sighed, straightened his head, and spoke again.
“It seems you youngsters need to introduce Susan to Grandmother.”
“What?” asked Merlin. “Grandmother? Now?”
“Aye, now,” replied Thurston. “She may recognize Susan’s family, you see.”
“Is this really something Grandmother needs to be involved in?” asked Merrihew. “It seems
