

The Last Resort

Yvonne Morrin

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© 2012 by Yvonne Morrin.

Smashwords Edition.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

#  Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

About the Author

Publishing Information

For Victoria Jane.

# Prologue

February 17th, 1990

As the boy ran across the courtyard, desperately fleeing from her pursuit, he stumbled and bit his tongue. The smell of blood erupted into the air, tangy and salty, driving her wild. Spurred on, she bounded on all fours relentlessly after the boy. The human part of her brain told her that this was wrong. It was absurd, hunting down a child who was entrusted to her care. But the human part of her brain was overwhelmed by the animal. With a yelp of triumph she sprang, and her prey came crashing to the ground. Greedily, she sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his calf muscle. Blood welled up into her mouth, hot and sweet and divine. As the boy screamed, she lifted her head, blood dripping from her jaws, and howled to the moon. Listening for an answering call, her ears instead picked up the rapid clack of footfalls against wooden floorboards. A tall figure all in black was pelting out of the junior dormitory, rifle in hand, full dress robes flapping at his heels. The headmaster pulled up short, panting. "Miss Fullmoon?" he said, raising the rifle and drawing a bead on her. "We need to talk..."

November 5th, 1972

The voodoo priestess scratched an image of a snake into the bare red earth. Hazy smoke drifted through the night as the beating of drums grew louder, and louder, and louder still, throbbing into the darkness. Swaying and moaning and sweating, the priestess danced barefoot in a circle around the spread-out jumble of bones, shaking her skirts and chanting an incantation. Her eyes rolled backwards until only the whites showed. The dead bones jittered and jangled, new life seeping into their cracks and pores. Teeth sprang out of the dirt and hopped over to the jawbone like popcorn on a hot skittle. The jawbone hooked itself onto the skull, and the skull connected itself to the vertebrae, which lined up neatly like well-behaved schoolchildren. Tumbling over themselves, the ribs came next, then the shoulder blades, collarbones and pelvis. The fingerbones connected up to the arms, and together they snaked along the ground towards the rest, while the foot and legbones danced a jig. "Arise!" the priestess commanded. And Skully arose.

April 18th, 1932

Slowly, carefully, the treasure seekers removed the last block of stone that barred their way into the Pharaoh's tomb. As the ancient seal was broken, fresh air poured into the chamber. The air danced about the Pharoah's golden treasures. It flowed around the engraved canopic jars containing the ancient king's brain, heart, and lungs. It caressed the hieroglyphs carved into the crumbling walls. And it wormed its way between the cracks in a small, modestly decorated sarcophagus which was positioned in an antechamber off to one side of the main tomb. The occupant of the sarcophagus, Dr. Ankh Ehl Bone, physician to the Pharaoh, breathed for the first time in three thousand years. It felt good.

July 12th, 1958

Flashing a spectacular smile, Blake Lagoon, Hollywood hunk, waved to the collection of teenage girls who stood around the lake admiring the rippling muscles of his bare chest. With a final wink at the prettiest girl, he plunged into the lake, and began to swim with long confident strokes, thinking what a life! Soon he was out in the middle of the lake. Feeling pleased with his efforts, he was about to turn back, when a twinkle of emerald light from below caught his eye. Could it be some sort of exotic phosphorescent fish? Curious, he dived down to investigate, only to discover that the greenish glow was emanating from a half-dozen rusty metal drums lying on the bottom of the lake. As Blake struggled to read the labels, he tasted an acrid tang like burnt garlic at the back of his throat. A strange sensation of stretching in the skin between his fingers and toes began to alarm him, before he was overwhelmingly consumed by a sudden searing pain ripping at the sides of his neck, like the slashing of invisible claws. What was happening to him?

May 7th, 1920

Louise sat in the rocking chair, tipping it wildly back and forth, while Boudica opened and closed the tattered, dust-laden drapes, alternately filling the room with light and darkness. Suzanna cranked the handle on the gramophone, setting a record spinning. A tinny classical waltz filled the sitting room of the rambling old mansion. The young priest stood in the centre of the room, clutching a crucifix, his wildly staring eyes taking in the rocking chair, the gramophone and the drapes as they moved, apparently by themselves. "What manner of evil is this?" he murmured. The sisters watched and smiled, waiting for the priest to run screaming from their house as so many others had before. But he did not run. Instead, he began to mutter in Latin, sprinkling holy water around the room. At once, each sister felt a tingling in the core of her being. The priest pulled fists full of iron nails from his robes next, scattering them about as if sowing seeds. As he continued his ritual, the tingling intensified into a distinct pull, impossible to resist. The final word of Latin passed his lips and at once each sister was flipped upside down and dragged feet-first towards the fireplace and up the chimney. One by one, they popped out on the slate-tiled roof.

"Well, really!" Louise exclaimed, smoothing her wiry grey hair.

"Young people these days!" Suzanna added.

"They've no manners!" Boudica huffed.

September 29th, 1814

The baying of hounds, the smell of burning straw, the yelling of angry villagers, the crackle of the fire, the searing heat of the flames – it was all too familiar. Once again, Norm knew he had to escape. He leapt down from the hayloft, landing in a crouch. There was a roar from the gathered mob as he was spotted. Wheeling around, he lowered his head and charged towards the back wall of the barn. The boards shattered as he crashed through them like a battering ram. Shaking off the loose splinters, he lumbered away into the sanctuary of the woods, one thought occupying his undersized brain. When will they leave me alone?

# Chapter One

The day the letter arrived seemed no different to any other. As the dinghy headed towards the mainland, Harriet Fullmoon shivered and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. She turned her back to the wind, looking instead at the castle on the island, her home for the past nineteen years. Its empty windows stared back at her like sightless eyes. Their stained glass was smeared with grime after centuries of neglect and the wooden shutters were warped and swollen with seawater. Once covered with a gleaming white wash of lime, the massive stones forming the walls and turrets were now cracked and dingy grey. Today, wind howled around the ramparts, sending the tattered flags flapping. In the green rolling hills behind the castle, tiny white specks roamed about. The castle's faded grandeur did not concern the sheep at all.

As the bottom of the dinghy slapped rhythmically against the waves, Harriet ran a finger over her upper lip. Already she could feel coarse bristles beginning to sprout. She'd only just shaved that morning. At this rate, by the time the monthly shopping was done and errands run, her moustache would have grown halfway back. Harriet sighed, and dropped her hand. She should have waxed instead of shaving, but it was so much trouble, and it was not as if she had much contact with the Mortavian villagers anyway. The avoided her just as they did all residents of the castle.

The dinghy bumped to a stop against the moorings, and Harriet climbed out. "Thanks, Blake," she called to her friend, the aquatic mutant who had towed the dinghy across the channel, grasping the rope between his teeth as he swam.

"My pleasure," Blake Lagoon replied, giving her a winning grin. As she looked at his dazzling teeth, set in pale blue rubbery flesh, Harriet wondered, not for the first time, what the former heart-throb had looked like before his mutation. She knew he had been handsome – the rugged outdoors type – and she knew also that the loss of his good looks had been tough on him. Yeah, well, we've all got our cross to bear, Harriet thought, rubbing the stubble on her chin.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," she said, looking down at him as he bobbed under the pier. "Will you wait here?"

Blake nodded, and waggled a webbed hand at her. Under the surface of the water, his gills puffed in and out like a bellows as he worked to catch his breath. Towing the dinghy across the channel was exhausting, but Blake liked to make himself useful. Everyone at the castle felt the same way. Each of them had found peace there, and they were universally grateful.

Warily, Harriet regarded the village streets. From the dinghy, she had seen the usual collection of fishermen tending their nets, women standing about gossiping, and children running and playing. As they had got closer, people began to notice the little boat, and when they realized Harriet was coming ashore, they'd made themselves scarce. It was the same every month.

The metal sign above the door of a fish shop squeaked on rusty hinges as it blew in the wind. A rumpled paper bag tumbled down the cobbled street. Harriet sighed, and started forward, her list of errands clutched tightly in her hand, lest the wind snatch it away. Suddenly, a mangy dog, little more than a bag of bones covered in wiry tan fur, sprang out of the doorway of the fish shop, barking and snapping at Harriet. Harriet looked left and right, narrowed her eyes, curled back her lip, and snarled at the dog. It froze, its eyes widening in fright, and then it cowered, tail between its legs and whined.

"Nippet! Come away in!" a voice called out from the fish shop doorway. Harriet couldn't see whether it was a man or a woman. The person was hiding in the shadows. Nippet didn't need to be told twice. He turned and pelted for the shelter of the shop, away from this strange being, who looked like a woman but smelled like a wild thing and growled like the ancestor of all canine-kind. As soon as the dog passed the threshold, the door banged shut.

"You should feed your dog properly!" Harriet yelled in the direction of the shop. There was no need for her to keep a low profile at that particular establishment, she reasoned. Fish was never on her shopping list since Blake could catch all the fish they needed, fresh out of the ocean.

There were plenty of other things they needed though, so she had better get on with it. Each shop keeper had a different way of dealing with her. At the butchery, she left a list of items on the counter of the apparently empty shop, and when she returned in half an hour, they would be ready for her, along with a bill. The bill was always very reasonable – much less than the meat was worth. Originally, the butcher had nervously offered her the meat for free, but Harriet had insisted on paying some amount. She didn't want anyone to accuse her of intimidation. So she would take the parcels, wrapped in brown paper, and leave a coin in their place. Nineteen years ago, when Harriet had first come to the castle, its treasury had been full of coins. Now there was only a small pile. In a few more years, she might have to take the meat for free after all. She grimaced at the thought.

At the grocers, Harriet was allowed to make her own selections, and she always hummed as she moved from aisle to aisle, filling her baskets with cleaning products, bottles of wine and toilet paper. When she was ready to leave, a small dirty-faced child would be pushed out of the back room to take her money. Harriet always smiled and tried to make conversation with the little tyke, but the child would simply stare back, stony faced, and say nothing. At first, Harriet had been touched by the level of trust shown by the owners of the grocery shop, actually letting a child have face to face contact with her. On her third visit, however, Harriet had caught a glimpse of movement reflected high up in the store windows and had realized that the shop owner was sprawled on his belly in the rafters, a shotgun trained on her, the whole time she was in the shop. No doubt loaded with silver bullets, she figured. So as much as Harriet wanted to hug the miserable-looking child to her, she resisted, knowing that all she would get for her trouble would be a bullet in the back. The child had grown up over the years, of course, and Harriet wasn't surprised when one day a different small, grubby-faced child was sent out to take her money. When she looked up into the rafters, the stony gaze of the original boy, now a teen, was sighting along the barrel.

Visiting the grocers was probably the worst of the errands, because it was the only time she was physically close to a child, and so she couldn't help but be reminded of her time as the matron of a boarding school in the Scottish highlands she once called home. They had once been happy times, never to be repeated.

The library was the best part of her monthly trip, simply because she got to talk to another human being. The librarian, a small woman in her fifties, Harriet's own age, was prepared to make small talk in order to practise her English, chattering about the weather, or the tides. She never mentioned the castle, never talked about the residents there, never so much as whispered a word about Harriet's "condition". Nevertheless, she conducted her conversation from behind a thick toughened-glass panel, which she had had installed at the front of her office by the time of Harriet's second visit. Harriet would feed books one at a time through a slot in the panel, and the librarian would issue them and push them back through to Harriet, all the while commenting on how frosty it was for the time of year.

Today was a little different, however. Today, the librarian said, "There's a letter for you. It came a couple of weeks ago. The postman brought it to me, because he knows that I'm the only one prepared to... I mean... that we..." she trailed off.

Harriet's brow wrinkled, her hackles lifted, and a small growl of concern escaped her lips. The librarian jumped about a foot backwards, and Harriet forced herself to relax and smile. "Here it is," the librarian said, pushing an envelope gingerly through the slot. Harriet took it and stared at it as if it might bite. Mail never came for the castle. Never. Harriet glanced at the return address. It was the office of some London solicitors. She looked at the front. It was addressed to "Uncle Viktor". This looked bad.

Harriet decided to forget about her other errands. She could always come back in a week or so. Thanking the librarian, she stuffed the library books into her already bulging backpack, hoisted the bag onto her muscular shoulders and headed back to the pier, hoping Blake was still around. Oh well, if he wasn't, she'd just have to row herself back. Somehow, she felt it was important that Viktor get this letter right away.

#

Viktor held the single sheet of paper out at arm's length, pinched between thumb and forefinger, dangling it as if it were a cockroach he'd caught scuttling out of the pantry. He regarded the letter for a moment with distaste, curling a lip ever so slightly, and arching one exquisitely coiffured eyebrow. This was the most emotion the residents of the castle had ever seen Viktor express, and it had them worried. A ripple of anxiety passed through the group gathered around the polished oak banqueting table. Usually the residents were free to come and go about the castle as they pleased, with no sense of direction nor duty to fulfil. What could have caused Viktor to call a meeting in the grand hall? The residents began to speculate.

Viktor smoothed his dark black hair back from his forehead. Pomade glued it neatly to his scalp. He then attended to his slanted eyebrows and pencil moustache, aligning the hairs precisely into place with a stroke. It wouldn't do to look ruffled. He delicately cleared his throat, and the hubbub ceased at once. All eyes turned to him expectantly. He returned each resident's gaze with his own measured look, nodding to them in turn.

Dr. Ankh Ehl Bone was standing at the far end of the table, pipe clamped between his teeth, pince-nez spectacles wedged on his nose, small beady eyes brimming with intelligence and curiosity. The eyes were of course the only part of the doctor which were visible, given that he was wrapped from head to toe in bandages.

Next to him stood Harriet, frowning, arms crossed over her barrel-like chest, her bushy eyebrows pulled low, coarse blonde hair barely tamed in a ponytail, a bundle of energy in a tweed suit. She really is a trooper, that woman, Viktor thought. Capable of just about anything, and fiercely loyal. What did the English say? A good egg.

Skully was seated next to her, taking the weight off his bones, grinning. Viktor's moustache twitched, and he suppressed a smile. Skully's grin was infectious. It was also permanent, as he didn't have any lips, nor skin, nor flesh, for that matter. Skully was a skeleton. He did have hair, however – eyebrows, and a thick thatch of black dreadlocks which he had somehow attached to his skull. Superglue, perhaps. Skully was forever rigging up ways to attach things to his thin frame – usually to compensate for the lack of tendons and muscles. His bones were wired together.

Callista Spitofido was on Skully's left. She rested her perfectly manicured hands on the table, crossed her long alabaster legs at the ankles and regally lifted her chin. Her poise was perfect. Then a small snake popped out from under her turban and flopped onto her forehead. Hissing at it in its own language, Callie pushed it back out of sight. Viktor suppressed another smile.

Opposite Callie, Norm loomed, standing stock still and looking completely lifeless. His massive jaw was slack and his arms dangled. Viktor knew the brain inside that misshapen head was working, but that the processing speed was slow.

Boo, Sue and Lou drifted about Norm, their visibility ebbing and flowing. As Viktor regarded the sisters, they gradually coalesced into a trio of translucent white Victorian ladies, hovering more or less in one spot. That, at least, was easier on the eye.

Blake was next. He squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable out of the water. He rarely came inside the castle, preferring his underwater cave set into the bedrock of the island. Viktor appreciated the effort Blake was making, coming to the meeting, but wished he wouldn't drip on the antique furniture. Watermarks were almost impossible to remove.

Seated next to Blake, Barbara Yaga grumbled and muttered under her breath. This was a regular occurrence, so Viktor took no notice. Although the old crone had lost many of her marbles, her eyes were still sharp. Viktor was pleased that she had found a safe refuge at the castle.

Ah yes, safe refuge. That was the issue, wasn't it? As Viktor regarded the residents, he felt a pang. He was the master of the castle, they were his guests, and so naturally he took responsibility for them. Anything that threatened the castle threatened them. It was time to begin the meeting.

"My friends," said Viktor. "As you are aware, Harriet delivered a letter to me as soon as I awoke this evening. The contents of the letter are dire, to say the least. Allow me to read it to you."

"Dear Uncle Viktor," he read. "Following the recent death of my father, Godfrey Romanoff, it has come to my attention that he was in possession of the property in which you currently reside, and which has been known for generations as Castle Romanoff. Under the terms of my late father's will, all of his assets have been left to me, including this property. I have little information about you, and indeed your relationship to the family. My father did once tell me that his grandfather had met you, when you were about thirty, which means you must be at least a hundred years old by now."

There was a small bark of laughter from Ankh. Viktor still looked to be about thirty. In fact he had looked about thirty for more than three hundred years.

Viktor went on. "My father did not have much more to say – except to tell me that 'we do not talk about Uncle Viktor'. I am not sure about the reason for this reluctance to discuss you. Perhaps you were the black sheep of the family. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, at least four generations of my family have seen fit to allow you to live rent-free in what was rightfully their property. You will find that I am not such a soft touch."

At this point, Harriet groaned, anticipating what was to come. Viktor continued. "I have sent this letter via my solicitors as formal notice of my intention to sell the property. I will be arranging for you to move into a retirement home, at my expense, within the next few weeks. I am sure you can see that a retirement home will be the best place for you. You will have all your medical and nutritional needs catered for."

At this, the doctor chuckled again, and worried as she was, Harriet smiled. Nutritional needs indeed. If only this man knew the truth about Viktor!

"I am unable to come to the castle myself, – after all, time is money. However, I will be sending a representative to appraise the castle and determine its sale value. Her name is Eleanor Davies, and she will be arriving in about three weeks, to stay for several days. Please extend her your hospitality, providing her with a room and meals. While there, she will also begin the arrangements for your upcoming move to the Shady Villas rest home here in London. I am sure you will be delighted with this opportunity to live out your life in a residence more suitable for a man of your years."

Viktor let the hand holding the paper drop, and looked up again at the residents. "It is signed Trevor Romanoff." There was silence from the residents as they regarded Viktor, looking for direction from him. He sighed, and sat down on the ornate throne-like chair at the head of the table. "Yes, it's true," he said. "Through a twist of fate, I do not technically own this castle. I was a twin. My brother was two minutes younger than me, and we were identical in almost every way. My father had intended to leave the castle to both of us, but when I was... changed into my current form, and felt the... hunger for the very first time, I was unable to control myself. I... did something I would later regret. My actions brought shame upon the family. My father disinherited me, and so when he died, the estate ownership passed to my brother, Sebastian. Sebastian and his wife Rose allowed me to live here. In fact, they protected me from the wrath of the villagers, and Rose was the one who suggested I try to sustain myself on the blood of sheep. Thanks to my brother, I was able to live a somewhat normal life. In time, Sebastian and Rose had a son. I watched the boy grow up, and my brother and his wife grow old, while I, myself did not. Eventually, my brother died, and the property passed to his son. The son, my nephew, continued to allow me to live at the castle, but he went travelling. Over the generations, ownership of the castle passed from son to son, along with a lot of mythology and superstition concerning 'Uncle Viktor.' Members of the Romanoff family have always had great wealth, and so, until now, every Romanoff son has seen fit to leave the castle alone, allowing me to occupy it, undisturbed. But I suspected this day would come, and it has."

Again, there was silence around the table. Finally Harriet spoke. "We don't know what the date is. This Davies woman is supposedly arriving in three weeks, according to the letter. But let's assume the letter took a week to get to Mortavia from London... and the librarian told me the letter arrived at the village two weeks ago."

Everyone except Norm groaned. Skully smacked himself in the head until his two glass eyes rotated to look at Viktor. The skeleton's thick black eyebrows were stuck to his skull with Velcro, and now he pulled one off and repositioned it, angled upwards, to give himself a quizzical expression. "So what are we going to do?" he asked.

Viktor smiled, exposing pearly-white razor-sharp canine teeth. "Well, Skully. I think we all know the answer to that one. We'll simply do what we do best." The other residents returned Viktor's smile. It was a long time since any human had dared to approach the castle. This was going to be fun. They began to talk amongst themselves, plotting and planning, devising the best way to deal with the intruder. Barbara cackled. Boo, Sue and Lou clapped their hands excitedly.

"Duh..." Norm said suddenly, his slack face becoming animated. "One week plus two weeks makes three weeks."

"That's right my friend," Viktor said. "Which means this woman could arrive any minute now. So let's make some plans!"

# Chapter Two

Eleanor Davies snorted in frustration, and continued along the wide street heading for the next fishing vessel. One of the heels of her fashionable boots had got stuck in the cobbles and snapped off. Her silk blouse, thin grey blazer and miniskirt were no match for the freezing wind driving in from the sea, which also whipped her sleekly bobbed hairdo into a frenzy of lashing strands. As she hobbled along, she muttered under her breath. This had seemed like an ideal assignment, worthy of a real estate appraiser of her calibre. She had, after all, evaluated some of the most luxurious country manor houses in England. It was only right that she move on to the old money estates of Europe. This was the next stepping stone in an already illustrious career. Appraising an ancient castle in Eastern Europe had sounded so exotic, that she'd jumped at the chance to take on this job.

Now she was beginning to regret the decision. The flight from England had been smooth enough, but then she'd had to catch a train, and had discovered that first class was fully booked. She'd yelled, wheedled and finally begged, but the people at the railway ticket office were immovable. Stupid foreigners. So, she'd ended up in cattle class, in a festering sea of native people. The women were all bent over and ugly. The men had no more than five teeth amongst them, yet had still managed to leer at her. There were animals on the train too – goats and sheep and dogs. The whole carriage reeked of animals and sweat and tobacco, and now her suit did too. Then, after the train trip, there followed a local bus, which was even worse. It contained all the same horrible elements as the train, but also threw in an insanely reckless driver who insisted on hurtling around blind bends in the wrong lane. Finally she had fetched up in the village, relieved that her long ordeal was over – only to find that it was not. No one would ferry her to Castle Romanoff! The first fishing captain she had asked had made the sign of the cross and backed away from her. The second one looked like his eyes were about to pop out. The third just ran away. And the fourth – well, he had spat at her feet.

So, it was with little hope that she approached the fifth fisherman. As soon as the word 'Romanoff' had left her mouth, the man began to shake. This was ridiculous. How could she do her job and earn her outrageous commission if she couldn't get to the castle? Finally, in desperation, she asked the fisherman to sell her a boat. After all, she could pass the cost onto her client, couldn't she?

Grudgingly, the fisherman agreed to sell her a dinghy for an exorbitant price. She paid up without batting an eye. Anything to get the job done and get back to England, away from these crazy, superstitious peasants, she thought. She had the fisherman drag the little boat to the shore, and then waded into the water – her soft, lambs'-leather Italian designer boots were ruined anyway – and clambered aboard. The fisherman mumbled an ominous warning – yeah, whatever, Eleanor thought – and then shoved the dinghy free of the shore. Eleanor took hold of the oars, and began clumsily to row.

#

Blake's streamlined body cut through the water with ease. He slipped past the entrance to his submerged cave, swam through its chambers and emerged at a hole in the cave ceiling, which was also the dungeon floor. "Norm!" he called out urgently.

As usual, Norm was lurking in the gloomy depths of the dungeon's shadows. He shuffled over to the hole, and looked down at his friend. "Hi Blake," he rumbled.

"She's here," Blake said. "Go and tell the others."

"Who's here?" Norm asked him.

"The woman. The real estate appraiser. Just go and tell Harriet will you? Just say 'The appraiser's here,' okay?"

Norm shrugged. "Okay." He began to haul his body up the wide stone spiral stairs into the castle. Blake watched for a moment, then ducked under and swam back out to the sea to monitor the dinghy's progress.

Norm found Harriet in the library, sorting papers. She looked up as he entered, surprised to see him in this particular room. He spoke. "Blake says there's something for you. It's your ape razor."

Harriet stared at Norm, puzzled. Her hand went to her chin, and she absently stroked the stubble which was rapidly thickening into a beard. An ape razor? Was that some sort of industrial strength hair removal device? If so, how had Blake managed to order one for her, and why? Not that she was ungrateful... but it sounded odd. "Are you sure that's exactly what he said, Norm?" she asked gently.

Norm's face screwed up in concentration, stretching the stitches across his forehead which attached his scalp to his brow. "He said 'tell Harriet the ape razor's here'."

"The ape razor's..." Harriet echoed, then slapped herself on the forehead as she worked it out. "Oh, hell, the appraiser! Uh, thanks Norm. Good job." Norm beamed at her, turned, and lumbered out of the library. Harriet stood, and smoothed out her tweed skirt. Showtime.

Her low heels clacked against the marble flagstones as she walked purposefully through the grand entrance hall. She lifted the thick wooden beams that barred the main entrance, as easily as if they were matchsticks, and flung open the oak double doors, frowning when they failed to creak ominously. She peered out, and her sharp predator vision spotted at once the small figure of a woman gingerly making her way across the field which separated the castle from the small pier that serviced the island. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her, which Harriet could see was constantly sticking in the grass. Harriet inhaled deeply, hoping to catch the scent of the woman, but the wind was blowing the wrong way, and all she could smell was the sheep in the upwind paddock. Delicious, but distracting. She shook her head slightly to clear her mind. Now the woman had seen Harriet, and raised her hand in greeting. Harriet did not respond. This made the woman stand up straighter and lengthen her stride – all business, and the grim determination etched on her face was not a good sign.

Once she was within hearing distance, Harriet said, "Ms. Davies." It was not a question.

The woman smiled. "Eleanor, please. And you are...?"

"Harriet Fullmoon, Mr. Romanoff's personal assistant and house keeper. Do come inside." Harriet watched with amusement as the woman fought to keep her face neutral. She was now close enough to see Harriet properly, and what she had taken to be either a bearded man in a kilt, or a woman wearing a woolen scarf around her chin, was in fact a bearded woman.

Eleanor murmured a limp "Pleased to meet you." Aware that she was staring, she averted her gaze to look past Harriet into the gloomy castle. Now her appraiser training took over, and she licked her lips. While the outside of the castle made it look derelict, the interior of the castle was clearly something special. The chandelier in the entrance hall was easily worth three thousand pounds. Greedily, her eyes roved over the antique furniture in the hall, as she mentally affixed price tags to everything in sight.

"I will show you to your room," Harriet said, slipping past Eleanor. "Allow me to take your suitcase." She picked up Eleanor's large travel case one-handed, as if it weighed no more than a pillow. Eleanor had struggled to get the bulky case onto the train, then the bus, then into the dinghy, then out of it, and she goggled in disbelief at the stocky middle-aged woman who now bounded up the grand central staircase, the suitcase balanced on one shoulder.

Eleanor trotted after her. "I should like to meet Mr. Romanoff as soon as possible."

"He is resting at the moment, and cannot be disturbed," Harriet said. "You will meet him after sundown, at dinner."

Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but Harriet had swept into a room, and once Eleanor had followed her inside, she immediately become enchanted with the antique furniture within.

"Make yourself comfortable," Harriet said. "I will come for you after sundown." She left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. Eleanor looked up sharply as she heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. She raced over to the door, and pulled on the handle. The door wouldn't budge. She was locked in!

"Hey!" she yelled indignantly, thumping the door with her fists. The ancient wood merely absorbed the sound. Sighing, Eleanor turned back to face the room, wondering if there was any other exit. She traced her hands over the rough stone walls, seeking a gap which might indicate a hidden door. She peered under the worn carpets in case they masked a trapdoor. She squinted out of the small slit-like window, but saw only fields of grass. Finally she approached the four-poster bed on which her suitcase sat, and retrieved a notebook and pen. She began to itemize and price the antiques in this room. Might as well make good use of my time, since I'm stuck here. Although annoying, it was not surprising. She had expected some form of hostility from this old 'Uncle Viktor' character. After all, she was there to arrange his eviction. Over dinner, she would explain the benefits of the retirement home, and of course he would see reason. She knew she was a good saleswoman.

#

Smiling to herself, Harriet pocketed the key to the guest bedroom, then bustled through the castle, informing the others that the woman was here, and reminding them of their agreed roles. Despite their initial excitement and enthusiasm, they had decided against using all-out scare tactics. The residents of the castle were very sensitive about the way society viewed them. Those who were over two hundred years old carried memories of angry mobs wielding pitchforks and lit torches. Many of the younger residents had faced men with firearms and packs of vicious snarling dogs. Every single resident of the castle had experienced persecution and prejudice of one form or another. In many cases, this was not justified. Norm, Blake and Skully had done nothing whatsoever to harm a single hair on the single head of a single human. They simply looked terrifying, and this was enough to damn them in the eyes of superstitious people.

Boo, Lou and Sue had done their share of haunting, and had enjoyed it immensely, but had never actually hurt anyone, and nor had Barbara and Ankh. Callie had inadvertently turned five men to stone once, but they were bad men, and she had no regrets about the experience. Harriet, however, in the grip of blood-thirst, had hunted, and hounded, and hurt an innocent boy, and she was deeply ashamed. But at least she had never killed anyone. Not like Viktor.

Harriet admired the cautious way Viktor had directed the other residents, urging them to remain calm and in control. After so many years of being pursed and threatened by humans, the residents had found a safe haven at the castle, and this woman, this appraiser, was jeopardizing their way of life. They had wanted simply to scare the pants off her and drive her away.

But Viktor said no. There was no way they were going to risk doing harm to the woman. What if she had a heart attack and died? Then they'd really be in trouble. He had a plan for getting rid of this woman simply and effectively. All of this meant that the other residents, especially Skully, had to remain hidden.

As sunset approached, Skully made his way down to the dungeon. Norm and Blake had already set up the card table next to the pool which led to Blake's underwater chamber, and cracked open a couple of beers. Skully looked at the bottles longingly. The worst thing about being a skeleton was the lack of a digestive system. He missed his taste buds most of all. Losing the ability to taste food was a cruel fate for Skully, since in life, he had been one of the top chefs in New Orleans. Of course, being unable to pick things up was another problem, given that his skeletal fingers skittered off most materials, but he got around that by wearing a set of latex gloves. The latex gripped a range of surfaces, including playing cards. Now, in preparation for their poker game, he pulled on his gloves with a satisfying surgical snap.

Blake grinned at Skully and Norm as he dealt out the first round of cards. "Sure makes a change playing without Viktor, doesn't it?" he said.

"Amen," said Skully, and Norm nodded solemnly. Norm found the rules of poker difficult enough without having to factor in whether or not Viktor might be bluffing. It was absolutely impossible to tell whether or not Viktor had a good hand. His face remained impassive no matter what the deal. Of course Skully's face did too, given that he had no skin to betray him, but it was easy to tell when Skully had a good hand, because he'd get the jitters, and his leg bones would start clinking together. Blake's tell was his grin. If Blake was smiling, it meant he was bluffing, and actually had a lousy hand. As for Norm – well, the others could usually tell what fate had dealt him. He picked up his five cards now, and shook the water from their surface. The cards were made of waterproof plastic, of course, so that Blake could handle them. He looked them over. There was a card with two upside down black love-hearts on it. That meant...he thought hard...a two...of spades. There was a card with some red shapes on it...diamonds...eight of them...an eight of diamonds. And there were three cards with pictures of pretty ladies.

"Look!" Norm said excitedly. "Three pretty ladies!"

"I fold," said Blake. It always took a few hands before Norm calmed down and remembered the object of the game, and the simple strategy of not announcing to the other players what was in your hand. Blake considered them warm-up rounds. The three friends and Viktor played about once a week, betting using a stack of coins from the castle coffers, with the winners choosing the loser's punishment – usually something like doing the dishes, mustering the sheep, or milking the cow. Viktor never lost. It was unusual to be playing tonight without him. Blake had asked Ankh if he had wanted to join them instead, but the doctor had declined, saying once again that he was too busy. Blake wondered what he did, locked in his chamber for hours on end.

#

At that very moment, Ankh Ehl Bone was conducting experiments up in his room. Luckily for the ancient Egyptian physician, a mouse had perished a few months ago in the kitchen, and Ankh had eagerly snatched up the tiny corpse, along with a number of supplies, and carried it to his room. There, he had laid it out on a table, delicately cut it open, removed its organs and rubbed it all over with salt. He had repeated the salt rub for several days, then wrapped the small body in bandages, put it in a box, and left it inside an airless pyramid he had constructed out of stones. To date, this mouse was the seventh creature Ankh had mummified.

Back when he was alive, Ankh had been the Pharaoh's personal physician. It was an important role – so important, that when the Pharaoh had died, Ankh, along with the Pharaoh's servants, had been executed and mummified in order to provide services to the Pharaoh in the afterlife. But there had been no afterlife for the Pharaoh and his servants, and Ankh's afterlife was not at all what he had been expecting. Instead of being brought back to life in a heavenly paradise, he was awakened still on Earth, but three thousand years later. He didn't know how or why he had been brought back while the other mummies trapped in the tomb alongside him remained lifeless husks. Curiosity led him to experiment with mummification, to see if he could replicate his resurrection.

The first few years of his new life had been fun. Ankh had enjoyed hiding out in the hills of Cairo, scaring wave after wave of treasure hunters, moaning, groaning and placing fictitious curses on adventurers. From books and magazines dropped by fleeing tourists, Ankh had taught himself to read several languages, and he had gradually learned about the modern world. He wasn't impressed. In his opinion, life in ancient Egypt was infinitely superior.

Eventually, Ankh had tired of a life of secrecy and had tried to live in the human world, thinking he could make his way as a doctor. Ankh felt he had a lot to offer the medical profession. He was shocked that modern day health practitioners had abandoned tried and true remedies, such as ground-up scarab beetle. Unfortunately, every time he had gone near a hospital to try to apply for a job, the doctors and nurses had been horrified at the sight of his head-to-toe bandages, had injected him full of morphine and confined him to a bed in intensive care.

Ankh knew that if he was to fit into human society, he would need to remove his mummy bandages, and this was where his troubles truly began. Every time he tried to peel back the bandages, great swathes of skin would peel off too, exposing greenish decayed flesh beneath. In frustration, Dr Ankh Ehl Bone had sought refuge away from society, and like so many other outcasts, he found that Viktor's castle was the perfect hideaway. Or at least it had been perfect. Now this threatening letter had arrived, and Ankh had a bad feeling that his peaceful days spent in medical research might soon be at an end. He needed to find a cure for his condition – and fast.

Gently, Ankh disassembled the pyramid and removed the small, stiff body of the rodent. With trembling fingers, he held it to his mouth and puffed air into the tiny nostrils. The bandaged tail twitched. The pointy nose wrinkled. There was a small, feeble squeak.

#

What little light there had been began to fade from the bedroom – or, as Eleanor was beginning to consider it, her prison. She had finished cataloguing the antiques some time ago, and was now lying on the bed, fuming. What was that strange hairy woman playing at, locking her into the room? How rude to treat a guest this way – albeit an unwelcome guest. As darkness settled into the room, Eleanor began to feel increasingly uneasy. A suit of armour propped up against one wall was looming menacingly. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw it move. Calm down, she told herself, looking away. Then she heard a creaking sound, and looked back sharply. Yes, even in the gloom she could see that the armour had definitely lowered its arm. Yes, well, things do get lower, she reasoned – its just gravity. There were no electric lights in the room, but on the mantelpiece were half a dozen candles. Lighting those would make the room cheerier, she decided. She got up from the bed and walked purposefully towards the mantle.

Lou, who was residing invisibly inside the creaky suit of armour, winked at Boo, who lit the candles just as Eleanor was approaching them. The businesswoman froze, her hands halfway to the matchbook, staring at the flickering flames in astonishment. Involuntarily she took a step backwards, then shook her head, and forced herself to laugh out loud. "Trick candles," she said, her voice ringing out into the silence of the room.

The three sisters exchanged shrugs. Sue billowed out the blood red curtains, making the two silk ends reach out towards Eleanor, like beckoning arms. At the same time, Lou caused the armour to rattle and shake, and Boo snuffed out the candles, plunging the room into darkness. After a moment, Eleanor laughed again. "Smoke and mirrors, Uncle Viktor," she said. "A nice try, but your special effects are not scary enough. I'm going to get my commission, you old coot, and you won't stop me." In the darkness, the ghostly sisters frowned at each other. What were special effects?

#

Callie hummed to herself as she skilfully applied her makeup. Rouge on her lips, bronze on her cheeks and kohl around her eyes. She examined herself critically for wrinkles in the large gold-framed mirror in her bedroom, and, finding none, smiled. Still beautiful after all these centuries. Her smile turned to a grimace as she reached up and pulled the towel off her hair, releasing a torrent of thin snakes, which bobbed about her chin, writhing and hissing. One of them stretched out and bit her milky white shoulder. She flicked the offender sharply on the head with a finger, reminding him who was boss. Yes, she knew they didn't like to be cooped up inside headwear, but sometimes she just got so sick of their constant movement, not to mention their occasional fights, that she just had to shut them away. They were very restless tonight, as their weekly feed was overdue. Viktor had asked all the residents to remain hidden tonight, while he dealt with this interloper, but Callie figured if she snuck down one of the tower staircases and into the kitchen, she wouldn't encounter the woman. Nevertheless, it would be best to take anti-petrification precautions. The snakes could only turn a person to stone if Callie herself felt malice towards the person. Given that this woman was here to throw them all out of their home, Callie was already inclined to hate her. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a silk turban. There was a loud hiss like steam escaping a kettle, as the snakes recognized the turban and let out a collective sigh. "Oh hush!" Callie said, as she began twisting and tucking them up under the silk material.

#

Thrown from a wizened hand, the coarse mix of gravel, dirt and straw struck the stone floor of the old woman's bedchamber, settling into a random pattern. Barbara Yaga cackled as she dragged her twisted body towards the chicken coop crammed to one side of the circular room. She had fashioned the cage herself, from sturdy sticks bound together with locks of her own long grey hair. As she neared the cage's occupants, they clucked softly, hoping for a feed of poultry mash. Instead, Barbara unlatched the door, and gently scooped up Esmeralda, her fattest hen. She threw Esmeralda up into the air, and the bird fluttered and flapped, coming to an awkward landing on top of the mess Barbara had spread out. Esmeralda's tiny brain began to reason that there might be worms under the dirt, and she started to scratch, while Barbara watched, clapping her hands and muttering. Finally, disappointed by the lack of tasty morsels, Esmeralda strutted away from the pile of dirt, head bobbing and comb waggling on her head. She made her way under Barbara's bed, where, as chickens do, she went to the toilet. Barbara didn't notice, but even if she had noticed, she wouldn't have cared. Barbara was examining the stones, dirt and straw, reading the future as told by the chicken scratchings. There were three long parallel grooves in the dirt, and four pieces of straw had formed a star shape. Worst still, some of the gravel was arranged in a crescent pattern. Barbara Yaga was worried. These were not good signs. They meant change was coming, and Barbara did not like change. She sucked in a breath of musty air, full of the smell of chicken droppings, and the familiar scent calmed her. She glanced at the old clock on the mantle piece. It was time: nearly sunset. Viktor had asked Barbara to stay in her room tonight, but she was worried about the signs she had seen. Bending down, she called Esmeralda out from under the bed, stuffed the long-suffering chicken into an old carpet bag, and slipped out of the room.

# Chapter Three

The sound of a key turning in the lock indicated to Eleanor the end of her imprisonment, and she sprang at once to her feet. Then she checked herself. She took a deep breath and sat down on the bed once more, picking up her notebook and pretending to examine it, despite the fact that her room remained in darkness. She didn't want these people to know that they had managed to upset her. She didn't want them to have the upper hand. The door opened, and the short hairy woman stood silhouetted against the light. "Oh, I am sorry," said the woman. It appears I must have inadvertently locked you in!"

Eleanor smiled vaguely. "Did you? Really, I hadn't noticed."

"Why," the woman went on, "it's so dark in here! Let me light some candles for you." She bustled to the dresser, struck a match and deftly illuminated the room. The candles stayed on. Eleanor could now see that the other woman had shaved off her beard, but tried not to react.

"Oh," said Eleanor. "I don't mind the dark, really."

"Really," Harriet echoed, face strained. "Well, dinner is served, and Viktor is anxious to greet you, so please follow me."

Eleanor trailed after Harriet as she led the way along a corridor and down the sweeping staircase. Harriet moved quickly and efficiently, and Eleanor, having changed into a tight sheath dress, had to trot to keep up. Harriet escorted her to a dining room. It had once been the great hall or ballroom, Eleanor was certain, as it was a vast, airy space which rose two storeys. The exterior wall contained three stained glass windows which had not been cleaned in some time, and the interior walls were hung with antique tapestries worth an absolute fortune.

One end of a long table was set with two places. Harriet directed Eleanor to her seat, and excused herself again. Once she had departed, professional interest took over and Eleanor began to price the antique plates, silverware and candlesticks on the table, not to mention the table itself and the chairs and sideboards. It was all worth a lot of money, and the thought of a fat commission made her smile.

The smile froze, fixed to her face, as a misshaped person shuffled into the dining hall, carrying a large, moving bag and muttering to itself. Eleanor tried not to stare, wondering what to make of this. Was it Uncle Viktor? Trevor had informed her that Viktor was exceptionally old, so it was a possibility. Soon, however, Eleanor realized that the person was female – a woman, to be charitable, although Eleanor thought that only the word 'crone' really fitted. "Hello," Eleanor said brightly. The woman did not acknowledge Eleanor in anyway, not by speaking, nor by looking up. She pulled out a chair opposite Eleanor, plonked herself down and dragged the bag onto her lap. "Hello," Eleanor said again, louder this time, in case the crone was deaf. The crone did not answer her, but the bag clucked. Eleanor shrugged.

Harriet bustled back into the room, pushing a trolley on which were two domed silver platters, and stopped dead when she spotted the old woman. "Barbara, what are you doing here?" she said.

The crone grinned at her, then suddenly locked gazes with Eleanor. Eleanor jumped. The old woman's eyes were yellow. She obviously had a serious liver condition to be so jaundiced. Well, Eleanor thought, if she dies soon, it will be one less person to worry about evicting. Already the castle had more occupants than she had been expecting, and Harriet looked to be a tough nut to crack. Still, Eleanor knew she was tougher. Pasting on another fake smile, she extended her hand towards Barbara. "Charmed, I'm sure," she said.

The old woman stared at Eleanor's hand without shaking it, and Eleanor was about to draw it back, when, moving like lightning, the old woman pulled something out of her bag and smacked it down into Eleanor's palm. It was warm and wet, and instinctively, Eleanor dropped it. It landed on the table, where it cracked open, spilling transparent goo and a bright yellow yolk. An egg. The old woman began to howl with glee, exposing a row of metal teeth. Eleanor looked at her hand. It was streaked with chicken poo.

"Oh dear," Harriet said, from the doorway. "Let me get you a cloth." Eleanor sat in awkward silence while Barbara and the chicken in her bag clucked away. Eleanor wondered what her relationship to Viktor was. Could Barbara be his ancient and senile wife? Before she could ask, Harriet was back, handing Eleanor a cloth and then bustling Barbara out of the room.

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment, trying to release some of her pent up tension, and when she opened them again, the place at the head of the table was occupied. She yelped, and jumped once more. The spot had been empty and now a man was sitting there. How had he moved so quickly from the door to his seat? she wondered. And who was he?

"Viktor," he answered her, although she had not spoken aloud. His voice was as smooth as melted chocolate, and made her feel just as warm and cozy. She stared at him, open mouthed. His face was sculpted, like a statue, with a strong jaw-line, and a masculine chin. His lips were full, and red, almost as if he wore lipstick, and his eyes dark and unfathomably deep. His hair was thick and black and wavy. The only odd notes were his pencil-thin moustache, which seemed strangely old-fashioned, like something from a black and white movie, and his long, sharp upper canine teeth, the tips of which pushed into his bottom lip when his mouth was closed. He was dressed in an honest-to-goodness smoking jacket, of gold silk with black velvet lapels and cuffs. "Glup," she said.

Graciously, Viktor ignored this meaningless syllable, and spoke again. "It is lovely to meet you, my dear. Please enjoy our hospitality for the moment, and we will talk business later."

Eleanor was flabbergasted. Whoever this guy was, he couldn't be the Viktor she was expecting. That guy was calculated to be well over a hundred. Was this man his grandson, or just someone taking advantage of a free room at the castle? In any case, it didn't matter, Eleanor decided. Her client, Trevor Romanoff, legally owned this castle, and so it was her right to see everyone else off the property, handsome or otherwise. She found her voice. "Viktor, you say? Well, I appreciate your offer of hospitality, and I am hungry, but I think it would be most expedient if we talked over dinner, because..."

"Wine?" Viktor asked, interrupting her train of thought. She stared, mesmerized, as he poured a measure of red wine into her glass, without waiting for her response. She saw that his own glass was already full. "To new friends," he said.

Feeling uneasy, Eleanor took a cautious sip. The wine was a merlot, warming and spicy. She relaxed.

All at once, the huge stone fireplace in the dining hall crackled to life with bright orange flames. At the same time, Harriet returned to the room.

"Ah," said Viktor. "Will you do the honours, Harriet?"

Harriet stood and moved to the trolley. As she passed, Eleanor could see stubble upon the woman's chin – a five o'clock shadow that had not been there before. Harriet lifted an antique silver platter, placed it in front of Eleanor, and whisked away the lid. Underneath was a bowl containing some sort of stew. It smelt good. Viktor had a bowl of red liquid, which smelt tangy and salty. Tomato soup, Eleanor presumed.

As Viktor began to eat, and Eleanor wondered what to do. Why were they given different meals? Could her food be poisoned? This was a weird group of people, and she had come to evict them after all. Maybe they were going to try to get rid of her. But then, she reasoned, lots of people knew she was here. The people of the village, the people from her firm, and of course Trevor Romanoff himself. Of course these people wouldn't try to murder her! What an imagination, she chided herself. Shaking her head slightly, she dug into the meal. It was hot, and spicy, but also tasty.

As she ate, Eleanor slyly watched Viktor from under her eyelashes. Viktor took slow, careful sips of his soup, patting his moustache with a white linen napkin between swallows. The napkin remained spotlessly clean.

Twice more, Eleanor tried to raise the subject of the castle's future, but each time, Viktor smoothly redirected her attention. Eleanor was able to twist most men around her little finger, but wondered if she had met her match in this suave, handsome man. However, Eleanor reasoned, she did have the law on her side. Trevor Romanoff was legal owner of the castle – that was clear enough. If worst came to worst, and these people refused to leave – well, the police were just a phone-call away.

Finally, dinner was over. Viktor extended a hand towards Eleanor, in a strangely old-fashioned gesture. "Shall we?" he said softly. Eleanor felt compelled to place her hand in his, and smoothly, Viktor stood, and Eleanor stood too. "I think you will find the library more comfortable," he said, leading the way.

The library, was, as expected, filled with antiques, and floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with leather-bound books. There was a slightly sour note, however, as if mould and mildew had set in. It was cold in here too. She shivered slightly, rubbing her bare arms. "Boo?" said Viktor, but he said it as a question, and she wasn't sure what to make of it, but at once, a fire sprang up in the grate, just as it had in the dining hall. How had he done that, she wondered? Some sort of gas release sparked by a remote control? Maybe even voice-activated?

Two glasses of port stood on the mantelpiece. Viktor took one for himself and handed her the other. He gestured towards a pair of large wing-back chairs, and they sat in front of the fire. Eleanor was anticipating more dithering, but Viktor got right to the point. "Miss Davies," he said. She thought about correcting him – it was Ms. – but bit her tongue. "I have of course received the letter from your client, and I am aware also of your role here. As you can see, there has been some... miscommunication. Clearly, I do not require the services of a nursemaid, and have no intention of living in a retirement village. Furthermore, I will not be vacating these premises, nor will my guests, and I will not be allowing you to sell any of my possessions either."

Eleanor took a deep draft of her port, and opened her mouth to reply, but Viktor went on. He leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes pinning her in place, as if she was a butterfly on a collector's board. "Tomorrow, you will return to England, and inform your client that the castle and its contents are of no value whatsoever, and that you recommend he abandon his plans to sell them." His manner was solemn, and he intoned his words as if they were a command. Ordinarily, Eleanor would have laughed in his face. He couldn't be serious! But when she opened her mouth, the only sound that came out was a murmur of agreement. She was shocked at herself. Viktor smiled, and leaned back in his chair, satisfaction etched on his face. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

Eleanor blinked. What had happened? The port! She figured it had to be drugged. Why else would she have agreed so readily with his ridiculous order? Go back to England indeed! There was no way she'd abandon the castle, and her fat commission cheque. She stole a glance at Viktor. His eyes were still shut, and so she quickly switched glasses. She took a deep breath, and spoke. "No, I'm afraid that's unacceptable. I am here to do a job, and do it I will. Mr. Romanoff is the rightful owner of this castle, and..."

Her voice trailed off as Viktor sat upright, and stared at her again, with his dark, penetrating eyes. "... and I'll go back to England and tell him that the castle has no value," she concluded in a small voice. Then she let out a sob. She felt wretched, utterly wretched. What was the matter with her? It was as if she had no will of her own. Fumbling for Viktor's glass, she took a large, consoling swig of his port, then spat it out in a torrent, gagging and choking. She sprang to her feet. Her dress, her hands, the table, Viktor's trousers, all were soaked in the foul liquid Eleanor had almost swallowed. Blood! Warm and salty, she could taste it still.

Viktor had also leapt to his feet, and was looking at her warily. She stared back at him in horror. "B...b...blood," she stammered. "You were drinking blood!" She looked at her hands, splashed with red. Viktor stood stock-still, assessing the situation. Suddenly, Eleanor bolted from the room, pushing past Harriet, who stood in the doorway, and fled up the stone steps as fast as she could. Mercifully, the key had been left in the door to her bedroom. She wrenched it out, dashed into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her, and locked herself in.

# Chapter Four

"Oh dear," said Harriet. "That didn't go very well. Plan B then, is it?" She came in and sat down, looking at Viktor with concern. Viktor had fallen back into his own chair, and was running a hand through his thick hair.

"She had a very strong will, but the thrall was working. She was most definitely in my command, and we'd have been rid of her tomorrow. Then, somehow, she drank from my glass, and now she knows, or at least suspects, what I am. The thrall won't hold anymore." He sighed. "So, yes, it is Plan B, I'm afraid. Scaring her stupid is our last resort. I guess the others will be pleased – particularly the sisters. They do so love an old fashioned haunting." Now he rubbed his eyes with a weary hand.

"Um," said Harriet.

Viktor looked at her sharply. "What? What is it now?"

"Well, it's Boo, Sue and Lou, actually. They admitted to me that they sort of started Plan B on their own."

"What! After I expressly told them not to?"

Harriet suppressed a grin. "Well, they haven't haunted anyone for so long, I just don't think they could resist. Besides, it apparently had no effect. They just tried a few of the old standards, but it seems that Eleanor thought the moving armour, billowing curtains and self-lighting candles were all tricks. We might have to up the stakes a bit."

Viktor nodded. "Times have changed. People aren't so easily frightened these days. Well, you'd best alert the troops," he said. "There's no need for them to hide any more."

#

Covers pulled up to her chin, Eleanor lay awake, staring into space, thinking things over. Viktor couldn't be the Uncle Viktor that had been known by her client's grandfather. He was too young. He dressed strangely, moved silently, had those odd pointed teeth, a hypnotic voice... and he drank blood. Yes, all weird by English standards, but she was in Mortavia now. Maybe here drinking blood was a culturally accepted practice. After all, didn't her own Granny back in England enjoy blood pudding, jellied eels and ox tongue? Suddenly, Eleanor felt embarrassed. She had run away like a frightened child, right in the middle of negotiations. Tomorrow, she'd get on with the job of valuing the castle and appraising the furnishings.

Alright, it was clear from Viktor's words that the people at the castle wouldn't be leaving voluntarily, but this wasn't her concern. One man and women wouldn't be a match for a decent security team determined to evict them.

She was just drifting off to sleep when a dreadful scream ripped through the night. Eleanor sat bolt upright, listening. Straining her ears, she picked up a faint gurgling sound. This was followed by metallic rattling, as of someone dragging chains over concrete, the slow creaking of a door, and finally, a long, drawn-out shuddery moan of despair. She flopped back down on the bed, rolling her eyes at all the clichés. Enough already! She got the picture. Viktor and the others were trying to convince her that the castle was haunted. It fit in with the business of the candles and the armour earlier on. She hadn't fallen for it then, and she wouldn't fall for it now.

Except that in the darkness, she could see the armour moving again. This time it wasn't just the arm lowering itself. The right leg dragged against the floor with a screech. Next, the left leg scraped forward to come into line with the left. It looked for a moment like the whole suit would topple over backwards, but then the torso lurched to catch up with the legs, the arms flailing at the sides. Excruciatingly slowly, the process repeated itself, the armour moving closer and closer to the bed, pitching and staggering like a drunk. In spite of herself, Eleanor scooted back against the headboard, thinking hard, trying to rationalise what she was seeing. Could it be robotic? Possibly, but the movements were too chaotic. If it was a robot, it was a very clever one. What about a puppet? No – no strings were attached, and clearly there was no one up in the ceiling controlling it. Someone inside the suit then? Suddenly, the visor raised itself, and she could see that the helmet, at least, was empty.

Now one arm mysteriously lifted up, accompanied by a very earthy "oof" sound, then one finger of its metal gauntlet straightened out, and pointed at her.

Unseen by Eleanor, Boudica, Suzanna and Louise were regretting their decision to use the armour a second time. It was deliciously spooky, granted, but also awfully heavy. In life, the sisters had been petite and slender, and had always hired a local handyman to do any heavy lifting. When the inseparable sisters had at last expired, all within two days of each other, their ages had totalled two hundred and ninety one. The supernatural strength that came with being a ghost did not compensate much for their frailty and age. Now, as Boo pushed the right leg of the armour forward, Sue pushed the left, and Lou stabilised the top, they found themselves tiring. Boo signalled that they stop, and scooted round to lift up the arm. Suddenly Lou lost her grip on the torso, and the armour came crashing down in a heap. This did the trick. Eleanor hopped out of bed and ran for the door, turning the key and flinging herself out into the corridor.

Unfortunately for Eleanor, Barbara Yaga was standing outside her room. Seeing Eleanor emerge, she cackled with joy, threw a handful of chicken feathers at the fleeing woman, and began intoning an incantation in a language no one at the castle understood. Eleanor stumbled down the stairs, away from the crazy old woman, unsure where she was heading. It was in the entrance foyer that she smacked into the brick wall. Or at least that's what it felt like. She fell backwards onto her rump. Sitting dazed on the cold marble floor, she rubbed her head ruefully, thinking what an idiot she had been, running crazed from her room like some frightened little girl. The mysterious armour had to have been a robot, or a puppet. She should have investigated it properly.

"Daaaaa..." a deep voice said. "Pretty...lady. Are...you...okay...?" Eleanor looked up. What she had run into was not a brick wall at all. It was a man – and what a man! He was at least seven foot tall, and perhaps five foot wide at the shoulders. His skin was tinged green, and he was covered in scars – around his forehead, his neck, his wrists, and his ankles. His ears were mismatched, and there was something very odd about his hands. She stared at them for a moment, before realising that the thumbs were on the same side. He had two left hands. This new vision Eleanor had more trouble rationalising. The man's complexion and scaring could just conceivably be a hell of a makeup job, but his sheer size was inexplicable, not to mention the creepy hands... Now he was reaching down towards her with one of the creepy hands, and Eleanor scooted back in horror. She staggered to her feet. She had to get away. Desperately, she ran through the lower level of the castle, looking for some safe haven. She passed the door to the dining hall, and saw just beyond it, a bright light illuminating the kitchen. She felt drawn to the comforting light like a moth to a flame. She skittered to a stop as she realised that someone was already in the kitchen – a slim woman, standing at the bench, preparing some sort of food. Relief washed over her, and Eleanor could have wept in gratitude at so normal a sight. She began to control her breathing, and felt ready to call out to the woman, when Callie, having finished her preparations, turned away from the bench, holding up a plate of what appeared to be finely chopped meat. Suddenly Callie's hair erupted into life, a sea of serpents writhing and twisting, snapping at each other as they fought to be first to grab a portion of the meat. Eleanor gasped, and Callie now noticed her standing in the doorway. She smirked and waved her free hand.

Eleanor spun away from the kitchen. She couldn't go back into the foyer where the monster man was, so she ran the only way she could – deeper into the castle.

She needed to stop and think – to come up with a plan. She recognised the library, and crept in. The remains of the fire in the grate provided some light and warmth. She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs, pulled her legs up, hugged her knees to her chin, and began to cry.

After a moment, there was a small cough from the other chair. What Eleanor had taken for a small pile of dirty rags was actually a person. Well, sort of. The slim figure was covered from head to toe in bandages. Now it scooted forward to the edge of its seat. Eleanor regarded it warily. It pushed its glasses up to the bridge of its nose, peered at her and said. "Er... I...um... curse you in the name of the Pharaoh."

"What?" said Eleanor.

"I said...I curse you. In the name of the Pharaoh."

"Oh," said Eleanor. "Why?"

"Well," said the figure. "Because you're trying to take our home away from us."

"Oh," said Eleanor again.

They stared at each other for a moment longer. Then the figure leaned forward and opened his hand. In the palm of his hand was a second tiny figure, also wrapped in bandages. It squeaked, and the larger mummy stroked it gently with one finger. "We've nowhere else to go," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Eleanor, and really, she was.

"I'm sorry too," said the mummy. Then he reached up and began to unwrap the bandages from his face. His eyes started to glow fiery red. Large strips of skin peeled away, attached to the bandages, leaving raw open wounds below, and the stench of rotting flesh. Eleanor stared in terror, trying not to choke on the terrible fumes. This man was a walking corpse! There was no way he could be alive with such hideous wounds on his body. As she realised this, horror rose anew, pushing her sympathy aside. She leapt to her feet, and fled the room through the far door, into another section of the castle.

Ankh sighed, and rewrapped his face. He cradled the tiny mummy mouse in his hands, leaned back in the chair, and stared into the softly glowing embers which were all that remained of the dying fire.

#

Boo, Sue and Lou were located high up in the rafters in strategic locations around the castle. Every so often they would materialise in Viktor's private chambers to report what was happening. It was the first time they had been allowed in, and they were relishing the opportunity. Here, Viktor sat in consultation with Harriet, who was feeling uneasy in Viktor's domain. Very few were ever invited into Viktor's inner sanctum. It was in this stone room that he slumbered during the day in a satin-lined coffin. When needed, he was summoned by a bell, which was struck by pulling on any one of a number of velvet ropes elsewhere in the castle. Harriet felt that the residents of the castle were making a poor job of the business of frightening poor old Eleanor. Boo, Sue, Lou and Barbara had done their best, but Norm, Callie and Ankh had only been discovered by Eleanor's own blundering about. And there had been no contribution from Blake, nor Skully, two of the castle's most freakish-looking residents. Not that she had done much herself, but at least she had an excuse. She was merely a middle-aged woman with a hair-growth problem – at least she was for three out of every four weeks. Sure, she was pretty darn scary when the moon was full, but the timing was all wrong for this particular crisis.

She looked over at Viktor. Of all the residents in the castle, Harriet figured Eleanor had the most to fear from Viktor. Yet he hadn't done much either. He had just nodded slowly at each report the sisters delivered. "She's just crashed into Norm in the foyer. Scared the life out of her. You should have seen her face! Eyes as big as saucers!"

Finally, Harriet spoke. "Are you going to finish this?"

"She looks a bit like Rose," Viktor said softly, looking down at his lap. "I don't think I can." Then he looked up at Harriet, his dark eyes wet and shining. "Will you do it?"

Viktor had never once directly asked for Harriet's help, but he had provided her with sanctuary when she was fleeing from her own demons. She nodded, and left the room, grateful to be out of the oppressive atmosphere. When she looked back, Viktor had dissipated into a black cloud of particles.

#

Harriet returned to her room for a quick shave, sent Lou off with a message to Skully, then caught up with Eleanor back in the dining hall. Eleanor was standing ram-rod straight against one broad stone wall, clutching a candelabra containing three lit candles and swinging it from side to side, as if to ward off invisible foes. Actually, she was quite justified in this action, as Boo and Sue were also in the room with her, occasionally throwing silverware in her direction. Nevertheless, Harriet pretended to be alarmed by what she saw. She padded into the room in her pyjamas and slippered feet, rubbing fictional sleep from her eyes, hair tousled. "Ms. Davis?"

"Monsters!" Eleanor said. "And ghosts!"

Harriet ignored Boo and Sue as they stood in the corner, giggling. She looked at the cutlery on the floor in consternation. "Ms. Davis," she said gently, taking Eleanor by the elbow. "I think perhaps you have had a nightmare. There are no monsters or ghosts here."

"But..." said Eleanor. "But... I saw them! There was a man, all in bandages. A mummy. And a big green man... a monster. And the witch... and the girl with the snake hair. I saw them!"

"Shhhh," Harriet said, soothingly. "Perhaps you've been working too hard. Maybe the strain of your job is too much for you, hmm? There's nobody in the castle but me, and old Mr. Romanoff."

"Old Mr. Romanoff? But... I thought..." Now Eleanor really looked at Harriet. "Where's your beard?"

Harriet pulled a puzzled expression. "My... beard?"

"Oh!" said Eleanor, confused. "Oh... I don't feel too well. Maybe I am working too hard. I had better go back to bed."

Harriet uttered a few more cooing, soothing sentiments, and then pointed Eleanor back in the direction of her bedroom. Still invisible to Eleanor, Boo, Lou and Sue streaked ahead of her, getting into position, eager to witness the next event. Harriet almost envied them. This was going to be good.

"Working too hard," Eleanor muttered to herself. "Must take it easy. Crazy imagination." She yawned and stretched. Now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, she felt exhausted. She carefully locked the door of her room behind her, and tiptoed back to bed. She peeled back the bedclothes to reveal...

A skeleton. The bone man rolled great glass eyes towards her and began chanting with a reggae beat. He snapped off one of his hands and shook it in her face like it was a maraca.

Eleanor screamed, and screamed, and didn't stop screaming through the rest of the night and on into the morning, and all through the boat ride back to the village, where Blake left her on the wharf, with a note attached to her jacket, asking the villagers to kindly look after her.

# Chapter Five

Eleanor Davies had not been in contact with the company for over a week. Hugo Dixon, her boss, was worried, although not about Eleanor's safety. He was worried about the hefty commission Dixon Realty would lose if Trevor Romanoff decided to sell his castle and furnishings through another agency. The last he had heard from Eleanor, she had been on a train, somewhere in Eastern Europe, heading for the castle, confident and upbeat. She had been due to phone him again two days later – and that was now six days ago. He had tried her mobile phone several times. The first time it had rung, and rung, with no answer. After that, he had got a signal indicating that the phone was out of service. Eleanor's flight home had been scheduled for yesterday evening. Hugo had his secretary call the airline, and was not particularly surprised to discover that Eleanor had failed to check in for the flight. So what had happened to her?

It was definitely out of character for Eleanor to have vanished like this. She was a real estate shark, almost as money-hungry as he was. Hugo considered his options. He could of course call the police in Mortavia, but he doubted they would take his concerns seriously. Besides which, that would start a paper trail, and news could get back to Trevor Romanoff that things had gone awry. Already Trevor had called this morning, knowing that Eleanor had been due to return to work, and wanting to know what his castle and furnishings were worth. Hugo had put him off, saying that Eleanor had been held up, but Trevor wouldn't be put off for long.

There was nothing else for it. He picked up the phone and dialled through to his secretary. "Sonia, I need you to put a hold on a ticket on the next available flight to Bucharest. No... wait... make that two tickets. I'll confirm in half an hour." He hung up on her, then immediately began dialling another number. The call was answered with a guttural grunt. "Jim? Hugo Dixon here... Yes, I need you for a special job, out of the country, for the next few days. Mortavia. No, not many people have heard of it – it's in Eastern Europe. Usual fee, usual conditions, usual equipment required. You available?" There were several more grunts. "Good, good," Hugo said.

#

Lisa Mayer pressed the disconnect button on her phone, lay her head down on her desk and wept. It had been over two weeks since she'd last had a cry, and all the pent up frustration now came out in a torrent. Her body heaved as the gentle flow of tears turned to racking sobs. Once more she allowed the hated image to enter her head. It hurt, but it was the only way to strengthen her resolve – picturing her husband Rod in bed alongside Margaret, his face a mask of shock at being discovered, hers calculating, a slight smirk about the lips.

It was five months ago that Lisa had cut short her trip to her parents and arrived home unexpectedly to find the pair. Five months of pain, and turmoil, of feeling betrayed, and wondering why. She had just come to a slow acceptance of her situation, made a plan for her future, and now Rod's phone call had stirred everything up again. The affair was over, he had told her. He had made a mistake and he wanted her back. Everything could be as it had before. Lisa was sorely tempted, but she knew it was a lie. Everything wouldn't be as it was before, because the trust was gone.

Her mother had been right, which was particularly galling. The age difference had been insurmountable and they hadn't much in common beyond their love of history. But, new in town, friendless and vulnerable, Lisa had fallen for the professor's charms. She'd first met him at a dinner thrown by her PhD supervisor, the now-hated other woman, Margaret. Rod had been attracted by Lisa's youth, her energy, her tangle of strawberry blonde hair and smattering of freckles. It had been a whirlwind courtship, long-stem roses every day, poems of love, and finally a proposal in a hot air balloon. The marriage had been good, Lisa had thought, although she was always busy with her PhD research, and he spent long hours at the university. And then she came home to the scene in the bedroom and her life fell to tatters. She fled their new house, abandoned the PhD, and ran home to her parents.

Another mistake. Her father wanted to help, but didn't know how, and her mother couldn't move beyond "I told you so." Her teenage brother Craig became her rock. He'd been eleven when she'd left home, and she hadn't known him that well, but now at sixteen, she was delighted to discover that he was interesting and intelligent. He took her out to movies and brought her books to read.

She had to leave home though, and took the first job she could find that seemed relevant to her love of history – as a guide on a European bus tour company catering to 18 to 30 year olds. She faked perkiness through the interview and training process, but once the job started for real, she found it impossible to maintain. Shepherding shambling young Australians and Canadians from one ancient ruin to another, Lisa found they were more interested in hearing about the locations of pubs than her historical insights. She managed two tours, then quit.

So now she was back at her parents' house, sitting in a makeshift basement office, snuffling into tissues. Why did she let Rod affect her like this? She had a plan now. Forget him, she told herself, drying her eyes. She jiggled the laptop mouse to wake up her computer and checked the advertising copy one more time. Satisfied, she clicked to send the images and text to the magazine, thereby launching the Living History Company into existence. Take that, Rod, she thought.

#

Hugo Dixon was regretting his decision to drive. The rented Mercedes was responsive, certainly, and it gripped the road in a manner that justified the phenomenal rental fees it attracted. The problem wasn't the car, it was the navigation system – otherwise known as Big Jim. Jim couldn't read a map. Truth be told, Jim could barely read anything. As they drove on twisting back roads through dark fairy-tale forests, Hugo briefly considered swapping roles and letting Jim drive, so that he could control the map. However, this would invalidate the insurance, and although Hugo could bill the expense of the rental car to his client, Trevor Romanoff, he couldn't bill him the cost of a replacement Mercedes should Jim crash it. Hugo stole a sidelong glance at the large man in the passenger seat. Although the luxury car had a generously spacious interior, Big Jim's bulk was squashed awkwardly into the seat. His sharp black suit did not match his steel-capped Doc Marten boots, nor his floppy bowl-cut hairdo, nor his neck tattoos. Hugo suppressed a shudder. Jim had almost no neck, small squinty eyes and droopy jowls like a bulldog. His lips were moving as he tried to sound out the place-names on the map. Hugo nodded to himself, reassured that he had made the correct decision. He doubted Jim would have been able to cope with driving on the wrong side of the road. With fat, stubby fingers, Jim roughly folded up the map, ignoring the original creases which, if used, would have concertinaed the paper neatly. He shoved the map into the glovebox, and slammed the door on it with a grunt. Then he stabbed a finger at the sat-nav system. Once more it spurted into life, yammering at the two men in rapid unintelligible Mortavian.

Hugo was relieved to note they were approaching a village. He suggested they stop at a pub for a quick drink and toilet break. Jim agreed. Once they had pulled over, Hugo sent Jim in ahead to order, and then spent a frantic few minutes refolding the map so he could fit it in his suit jacket unobtrusively. He was embarrassed by this show of weakness – after all, he was Jim's employer on this trip – but when he had earlier in the day pulled over and politely asked to see the map, Jim had thrown a tantrum, turning purple with rage and smacking the dashboard hard. Now Hugo walked into the pub, spotted Jim sitting at a corner table, drinking a large beer and scowling at the locals, waved at him, and scurried into the toilets, where he locked himself in a stall and examined the map. Pulling out a pen, he painstakingly copied some place-names and directions onto the palm of his hand, where he hoped Jim wouldn't see them. Then he stood in front of the mirrors, smoothing his suit and re-spiking his hair. "Looking good," he murmured to his reflection.

# Chapter Six

As the Mercedes purred its way over the cobbled streets of the village, Hugo could almost feel the heat from the hostile glares it was attracting. Everywhere, villagers were scrambling out of the way, pulling in their wares, shutting blinds and shutters, closing up shop.

Hugo stopped the car next to an old lady and her dog, which was tied to her with a short piece of twine. The dog was mangy, and mean-looking. It curled a lip at Hugo and snarled. The woman was hunched over, seemingly weighted down by layer upon layer of ragged clothes. Hugo got out of the car, keeping a wary eye on the dog. In one hand, he held a picture of Eleanor, torn from a page of his company's annual report, and a pile of money. In the other hand was a sheet of paper with some Mortavian translations on it. He sounded out the words, hoping his accent was appropriate. "Excuse me."

The woman said something that Hugo took to mean "Yes," but did not look up.

Hugo thrust the photo and money under her nose, and continued. "You have seen this woman, yes?"

Now the woman did turn her face upwards. Hugo was horrified to see that her eyes showed only the whites. She was blind. The woman spat on the street, and then began to laugh, while the dog growled. She extended her hand, expecting Hugo to give her a coin, but Hugo had already leapt back into the car. He slammed the door shut, started the engine and pulled away.

"The castle is on a island, right?" Big Jim said.

"An island, yes," said Hugo, who couldn't help correcting the larger man. He winced, hoping Jim hadn't noticed. He hadn't.

"Well, then she'd have got a boat, right? So we should go down the docks."

Hugo marvelled at Jim's reasoning. Of course, he was right. Hugo turned the powerful car towards the waterfront. Here, fishermen were working at unloading their boats, and although they looked warily up at the Mercedes, they did not run and hide. Good.

Again, Hugo pulled over. He approached one of the fishermen and repeated the exercise with the photo and the money. This man clearly recognised the photo, his eyes bulging out and face tightening when he saw it, but his response to Hugo's question was "no."

Hugo let it go, and walked over to the next fisherman along. Again, it was obvious that the man recognised Eleanor, but again, his answer was "no." Well, Hugo, reasoned, this is what he had brought Big Jim along for. He turned to the Mercedes, and beckoned. The passenger door opened, and Jim flowed menacingly out, all six feet three inches of him. Now all the fishermen stopped their activities and watched the unfolding drama. Jim opened his jacket slightly to show his holstered gun to the man who had just given Hugo a negative answer, then stood quietly beside him and folded his hands. Hugo asked again. "Have you seen this woman?" The man looked at Jim and swallowed. Then he looked at the money in Hugo's hand. He did not look at the photo again – he didn't need to.

"Yes, yes," the man said.

"What do you know about her?" Hugo asked, reverting to English. The man shook his head, shrugged and said something in Mortavian. Jim moved closer to him and laid one meaty hand on his shoulder. The man became more frantic, his Mortavian faster, his arms gesturing wildly.

"It's okay, Jim," Hugo said. He searched through his Mortavian phrases and finally came up with "A person, speak the English?"

"Yes, yes," the man said. He pointed and led Hugo and Jim back to the Mercedes. Jim climbed in the back, where he loomed over the fisherman in the passenger seat. With pointing and the words "yes" and "no", the man directed Hugo through the narrow streets to a slim, pastel blue building. They got out of the car, and the man pointed at the building, then turned to go, but Jim caught him up by the collar, causing his legs to momentarily dangle in thin air. Jim set him down and shoved him towards the building, indicating that he should enter first.

Inside, Hugo was surprised to find shelves of books. It was a library. A small dark-haired woman looked up at them sharply as they entered, took the measure of Jim, and before they could stop her, scuttled into her office. Hugo was alarmed to note that the office appeared to be behind toughened, bullet-proof glass. Why would that be necessary in a quiet seaside Mortavian village? The fisherman approached the glass and began talking rapidly, gesticulating at Hugo and Jim. The librarian's eyes widened as she listened. Finally she held up a hand, and spoke in English. "Yes, the woman was here. She hired a boat and rowed out to the castle."

"Did she come back?"

The woman looked at her feet and shrugged. "I don't know." Hugo was sure she was lying.

"I bet she did come back," he told the woman. "But then where did she go? Answer me!" The woman just shook her head.

Hugo swore, and then nodded at Jim. Grinning from ear to ear, Jim removed the gun from his jacket, and pointed it at the fisherman, who froze stock still. The woman stared at the picture in front of her. Jim moved closer to the fisherman, placing the gun now at his temple.

"Well?" said Hugo.

"She's at the convent," the woman said meekly.

"A convent?" Hugo couldn't believe his ears. "Eleanor? At a convent? Explain."

"She came back from the castle. She was... what's the word? Historical? No... hysterical. She was shaking and crying. We couldn't get her to talk. There was a paper pinned on her with words. It said to look after her. So we took her to the convent, where the nuns can look after her." The woman shrugged again.

Hugo rubbed his jaw, scraping his fingers over stubble. He couldn't imagine Eleanor in such a state. But he was sure now the woman was telling the truth. He debated for a moment the pros and cons of tracking Eleanor down at the convent, but decided that if she had recovered, she would have made her way back to England, and that if she was still a quivering wreck, she was of no use to him. Better to forget her, and get to the castle to see what caused her distress. One thing was for certain: he was now very, very glad he had brought Big Jim.

# Chapter Seven

Harriet had bundled up most of Eleanor's belongings, and Blake had put them in the boat and towed them to the dock in the village, where he left them, with a note attached. A fashion magazine had been left behind, however, and this was eagerly snatched up by Callie. One photo in particular fascinated her. It showed a hairstyle called cornrows. The model's hair was plaited close to her scalp, and each plait was secured with a bead at the end. It held distinct possibilities for Callie. She'd spent a whole day searching the paddocks around the castle looking for suitable stones, and then had painstakingly drilled through each one using a hand drill. Then she put on a pair of thick gloves to avoid the inevitable bites and began to plait snakes together in threes, securing each trio with a rubber band and placing a bead over the end of each head like a little helmet. Remarkably, once they were covered up, the territorial snakes forgot all about the existence of the others, and calmed down, lying flat and still. It was bliss for Callie, apart from the odd day when she had to remove the beads and feed the snakes.

She was sitting in the library re-reading the fashion magazine, looking for new tips, when Blake ran in. Although he usually swam the sea naked, he had the courtesy to don a pair of speedos every time he came into the castle. Today he had been in too much of a hurry to remember. Every inch of his pale blue scaly skin was exposed to Callie, Barbara and Harriet, who all looked up, startled when he burst in. He stood for a minute, panting, the gill-flaps on his neck sucking noisily in and out. It always took a moment for him to make the transition from gills to lungs when he emerged from the water. While they waited, Harriet looked politely down at the floor, Callie peeked curiously over the top of her magazine, and Barbara Yaga openly stared. "That reminds me," she said. "I need a new supply of chicken necks."

Blake looked down at his naked body, saw what she was staring at, grinned, spread a webbed hand in front of himself to spare his modesty, and said, "Sorry, ladies. But it's an emergency. Three guys in a fishing boat, out on the sea heading this way. One guy looks like a local, from what I could see. Two guys with him might be English. They're in suits. One guy's big. Not Norm-big, but big." He looked to Harriet for direction.

She stood up. "Alright – we knew this would probably happen. Trevor Romanoff is not going to give up so easily. He's sent a couple more guys to deal with us. And I expect these guys will pack a bit more punch. Still," she smiled tightly, "they're no match for us, right?" Blake grinned again, Callie nodded, and Barbara cackled. "Okay, Blake – back to the water, see what else you can find out. Barbara, inform the sisters. Callie, see if you can dredge up Norm. Oh – no offence, Blake. I mean 'rustle up Norm'. If you see Skully or Ankh on the way, warn them. I'll go inform Viktor." With that, the group went their own ways.

Viktor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I think, once again, it would be best if I saw them alone." Harriet frowned. "My dear girl," Viktor said, eyes twinkling. "Do you imagine I can't handle two human mortals? Bring them to the library. No refreshments this time I think." Harriet took the order and trotted efficiently away to open the massive front doors of the castle. She wondered for a moment what would happen if she left them closed. The castle did have a few weak points, but was pretty solid. They could prevent a couple of humans from entering easily. But then more would come. This whole issue had to be settled once and for all, she realised, otherwise they'd all better start looking for a new place to live. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her chin, and felt a thick growth of beard. The full moon was due in just a few days, so she was hairier than usual. Well, maybe the beard would at least discombobulate the pair for a few minutes.

It did. The smaller of the two men visibly started on seeing Harriet, and the larger one just gazed at her chin, mouth hanging open like the slack jaw of a dead fish. "Mr. Romanoff will see you in the library," she murmured. "Right this way."

There was a roaring fire in the grate, courtesy of Boo, Sue and Lou, and Viktor stood leaning proprietarily on the mantelpiece, impeccably dressed in a smoking jacket over satin evening pants. What century is this guy from, Hugo wondered. Instead, he said, "You're Mr. Romanoff? Mr. Viktor Romanoff?" Viktor inclined his head in stately acknowledgement, and Hugo went on. "We were led to believe you were somewhat older. But perhaps you are Mr. Romanoff Junior?" Viktor made no movement to confirm or deny this, so Hugo continued, introducing himself, and the big man, who he described as his colleague, Big Jim. "Now, you are aware of our reasons for visiting you. To whit, you are trespassing on the private property of Mr. Trevor Romanoff, and are required to vacate the premises immediately. Our client is a very busy man, as am I, as is Big Jim. We don't appreciate being mucked around."

"No," said Viktor.

"No?" said Hugo, through gritted teeth. "No, what?"

"No, we won't be leaving these premises now, or at any time in the future."

Hugo's teeth were now grinding together. "Is that so? Well, I needn't remind you that we have the law on our side. However..." and here he paused to look significantly at his as-yet silent colleague, "...however, the law takes time. And our client is prepared, if necessary, to work outside the law." He nodded at Jim, and this time the big man nodded back and left the room.

Viktor started forward, but Hugo stepped into his path. "Relax, Mr. Romanoff. Jim's just gone to check on that... lovely... housekeeper of yours. It's just you and her, right?" Hugo's tone was suddenly so menacing, that Viktor felt himself respond at once, his canine fangs lengthening and thickening with the surge of adrenalin. He wanted to bite this man, pin him down and drain the very lifeblood from his veins. Breathing deeply, he fought to control the urge, and felt it recede. This man was not the dangerous one. For a moment, he wondered if it was too early to show their hands, but then he figured, why not? It was going to happen sooner or later. And with that, he dematerialised into a million tiny particles of mist, and propelled himself out through the door, in search of Big Jim, while Hugo stood at the fireplace, gaping in disbelief.

The problem with travelling as a million tiny particles of mist, is that you can't see where you are going. Viktor couldn't simply drift through the castle, looking out for where Big Jim had gone to. He had to make a choice, and so decided to re-materialise out in the grand entranceway. When he attained solid form, he saw at once that the man was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly there was a loud, angry shout, followed by a gunshot from the kitchen. Viktor ran to the room, and pulled up sharply. A strange picture presented itself. The large man had his left arm around Callie's neck, holding onto her tightly, and in his right hand was a gun, pointed at her head. Callie was glaring malevolently, and Viktor wondered why she hadn't simply turned the man to stone before he had caught her up. Then he saw the snakes on her head writhing and squirming as they fed on Callie's rage, and realised that the helmet-like beads covering their heads had blinded them of their powers. A shame. This evil man would have made a great statue for the centre of the hedge maze.

Skully was standing to one side, brandishing a saucepan, and making what he called his 'scary ooga-booga face' with jaw snapping up and down and glass eyes spinning in their sockets. The man was staring at Skully, face bleached white with terror. "Stay back!" he yelled, his whole body shaking, as he tightened his hold on Callie still further. He didn't look stable and Viktor feared for Callie's life. He briefly considered dissolving into mist again and reappearing close enough to snatch away the gun, but this would require precision and speed, and he couldn't risk failing. The ghostly sisters could probably do it – they could possess the gun, or at least the bullets – but where were they?

Still considering what to do, Viktor became aware of a low growling sound. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He pivoted ever so slowly on one foot, and caught sight of a wolf crouched behind the kitchen door. Its rough blonde fur stood out in tufts, hackles quivering, and its jaws dripped saliva onto the kitchen floor. Harriet's green eyes burned out from its face. His brow wrinkled momentarily. He was sure it wasn't a full moon for another week or so. Then he remembered Harriet having once told him that times of great stress or threat also induced the change. He looked from the wolf to the man, and back again. The man was still focussed on the skeletal form of Skully, but Viktor was certain that the greater danger was from Harriet. He hoped she wouldn't do anything rash. As he was about to speak in hypnotic tones to the man, to try to induce the thrall, she suddenly sprang, snapping and snarling, going for the gun hand.

The man's reflexes were fast. In a blur, he brought the gun down and around, firing at the wolf. Harriet fell out of the air and crumpled on a heap on the floor. Immediately, a large pool of bright red blood blossomed around her. The man returned his gun to Callie's temple, then kicked the shaggy body at his feet. He glanced back at Skully, and in the instant he was distracted, Viktor turned to mist and poured out of the kitchen. He appeared again in the entranceway. "Boo, Sue, Lou!" he hollered. At once the three sisters materialised. "Boo, Harriet's in the kitchen. She's been shot. Get Ankh. Sue, there's a man in the library, or at least there was. Short man, flashy suit. Find him and prevent him from going anywhere. Throw whatever it takes. Lou, there's a big man with a gun. I need you to knock it out of his hands, but only when you've a clear chance. He's fast, and we can't risk Callie." Alarmed, the sisters began to twitter to each other, and so Viktor roared. "GO NOW!"

Viktor had never raised his voice before, so the sisters went. There was another horrible gunshot, and then the big man came out into the entranceway, pulling Callie along with him. He saw Viktor and his eyes gleamed with malice. "No good thinking you could scare me with that fake skeleton. Didn't know I had a gun, did you? Well, I shot it, and nothing happened. And your dog was pretty useless too. Now, I just heard you talking to someone, so I want you to answer me, and make it snappy, or Beadilocks here gets a drastic new hairdo." He gestured with the gun, so that Viktor got the message. "How many people in the castle?"

Viktor cleared his throat. "Just me, and my housekeeper who you met before, and the girl you're holding now."

"She your girlfriend?" the man asked. Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "Call the housekeeper. I want everyone where I can see them. And no tricks." Viktor could tell that Lou was hovering behind the man's head, but he wasn't giving her any opportunities to take the gun. Viktor thought frantically. He had an idea, but would it make a bad situation worse? No, hopefully it would distract this man long enough for Lou to make her move.

"Alright," Viktor said. "I'll call my housekeeper. Her name's Norma." Then he began to shout. "Norm-a! Norm-a! Come here please, I need your help with something." There was silence for a moment, and then they all heard the sound of footsteps in the passageway. The man visibly relaxed. That is, until he saw Norm come lumbering into the room.

"Daaaa," said Norm. "Why'd you call me Norma?"

Again, the man was quick. He pointed the gun at Norm and fired one, two, three shots. They sunk into Norm's chest, thunk, thunk, thunk. Then Lou whisked the gun from his hand. It spiralled up into the air, sailed across the entranceway and landed gently in Viktor's open palm. At this point, Ankh came sprinting down the main stairs, closely followed by Barbara Yaga, and they raced into the kitchen. Blake appeared too, standing dripping in the entranceway.

The big man released Callie, and began to back away from the seven-foot-tall green zombie-creature and the weird-looking pale blue aquaman. Callie immediately began to yank the beads off of her snakes, releasing the furious little creatures. "No, Callie!" Viktor said.

"He shot Harriet!" Callie wailed, flinging the beads away. Lou took charge of the situation, scooping up the beads, and whizzing around Callie's head, re-attaching them to the snakes faster than Callie could remove them.

The big man was still backing away from the crazy scene, when suddenly, Norm cried out, "No! You're going to step on him!" Leaping with amazing speed, agility and grace, he slammed into the man, and brought him crashing to the ground, where his head cracked against the flagstones, knocking him unconscious.

Callie stopped trying to free her snakes. They would be useless now. She fumed, swatting the air, trying in vain to brush Lou away. Lou calmly replaced the remaining beads, told Viktor she was off to see if Sue needed help, and vanished. Callie's eyes suddenly widened. "Harriet!" she said, and raced off to the kitchen.

Viktor suggested that Blake find a rope so the man could be secured, then turned to Norm, and regarded him, eyebrows raised in a question. Norm bent down and scooped something up off the floor. "The man was going to step on him," he explained. Gently, he opened his massive hand, and held it out for Viktor to see. A tiny figure in bandages looked back at Viktor, and said, "Squeak!"

# Chapter Eight

Harriet woke a few hours later tucked up in bed, in her own bedroom high atop one of the castle's six towers. She was in her human form too, which was good, she realised, once she'd unpeeled metres and metres of bandages from her arm and examined the wound. It had been expertly stitched up by Ankh. In her dog form she wouldn't be able to resist picking at the stitches, she knew. They might even have had to put a cone collar around her neck. She grimaced at the thought. Although the stitches looked good, there was a nasty smelling yellowish paste covering the bullet-hole, which she resolved to wash off as soon as she could.

Boo materialised. "Oh good, you're awake."

"Have you been floating up there, watching me?"

"Just popping in and out to check on you. Are you up to seeing visitors?"

Harriet nodded, Boo opened the door, and a crowd came flooding in. They squashed around her four-poster bed, all talking at once. Harriet held up the hand of her good arm. "One at a time, please."

"I will go first," Ankh said, stuffily. "For a start, I will need to re-bandage that arm!" He began to wind the crepe efficiently around her wounded limb. "The bullet penetrated your bicep and lodged in your humerus bone. Sue was able to take possession of the bullet and withdraw it along the entrance-path, minimising further damage. I was able to stitch the wound closed and we applied a healing unguent composed of ground-up scorpion abdomens. Barbara transported the scorpions here from Egypt, using a matter-transference spell, and Skully ground up the abdomens using...ahem... his teeth." Harriet tried not to wince, as Ankh continued. "You then needed a blood transfusion. Luckily, Viktor is a universal donor... for obvious reasons. He gave you a couple of pints, and so here you are."

"I have Viktor's blood in me?" Harriet sat up abruptly, and sought out Viktor's face. "Does that mean..."

Viktor cut her off. "No. It doesn't work that way on werewolves."

Harriet sank back down into the pillows, relieved that she had not been turned into a vampire. Her one curse was bad enough. She didn't think she could face keeping to shadows and never basking in the sunlight again.

Now the others all began to speak again. Suddenly, she realised that someone was missing. "Where's Norm?" she cried out.

Blake chuckled. "He's on guard duty. I'll go relieve him in a minute, and send him up. He wanted to show you his gunshot wounds. He says he's got three, and you've only got one!"

"Hey, I got one too," Skully said. He pointed, and Harriet could see where one of his ribs had been splintered away. "I'd better go file down the sharp edges," he added. "Good to see you're okay. Extra special dinner for my best girl tonight!" Then he left the room.

One by one, Blake, Viktor, Boo, Sue, Lou, Barbara and Callie gave her their best wishes and departed. Ankh fiddled with her arm for a while longer, and then he too was gone. Norm popped in, carrying a small, scrawny bundle of wild daisies, which he had picked himself. He showed her his wounds, which were circular holes surrounded by ragged flesh, but no blood. Technically, Norm's torso had died centuries ago, so Harriet figured this was why it hadn't bled. Looking closer still, she could see the ends of the bullets, embedded in the flesh. She told Norm, and he was pleased, determined to leave them there as a souvenir. Finally, Norm left too, and Harriet was alone with her thoughts.

In the gathering darkness, she began softly to cry. How wonderful it is to have a home. A place I belong. Friends.

#

Once more, Viktor looked around the table at the assembled residents. He saw in their faces a mixture of anxiety and triumph. It had been an odd day. Things had gotten out of hand. For a start, Viktor had seriously underestimated their visitors. He hadn't expected them to be carrying weapons. Viktor had been a fencer, many centuries ago. He knew about blades and had been forced by circumstance to learn about wooden stakes, but he didn't have much experience with firearms, and in truth, they frightened him. If the bullets that had struck Harriet had been silver... Viktor shuddered at the thought. Letting Jim leave the room had been a near-fatal mistake. Viktor knew they were lucky that everything had worked out as well as it had.

That afternoon, after ensuring that Ankh had Harriet's care well in hand, Viktor had returned to the library. There, he had found Hugo turned turtle on the floor, hands over his head protecting his skull. Books surrounded him, splayed open, spines bent out of shape. This had annoyed Viktor slightly, but then again, he had said "throw anything." Lou and Sue were still occasionally firing a volume Hugo's way, just to keep his head down, but Viktor could tell they were getting bored. "Thank you, ladies," he had said to them. "You can go now if you would like to. I'll take over."

"Throw the book at him!" Sue had said. The two elderly ghosts had giggled, and left.

"You can get up now, Mr. Dixon," Viktor had said next, and Hugo had climbed to his feet. He had begun to bluster about ill-treatment, but Viktor cut him off. "Your colleague has shot a member of my staff, and threatened others. He has been... subdued. Now, I needn't remind you that we have the law on our side. However..." and here he had paused to smile menacingly at Hugo, allowing his canine teeth to visibly lengthen and thicken, "...however, the law takes time. And we are prepared, if necessary, to work outside the law." Hearing his words thrown back at him, the blood had drained from Hugo's face.

So now, both intruders were safely manacled in the dungeon, and the residents had to decide what to do with them. Callie was still fuming about not being allowed to turn Jim to stone. Viktor patiently explained that this was not an option. "Callie, you could easily petrify them. Norm could tear them limb from limb – and so could Harriet in a few days. I could drain their life's blood away in a flash. Blake could drown them, I've no doubt, and there are probably spells and curses Barbara and Ankh could throw at them too. All of us are dangerous one way or another but... what is it Skully?"

Skully had been waving one arm frantically in the air. He had actually detached this arm at the elbow joint and was holding it in his other hand and waving it well above his head. It was very distracting. "What about me?"

Viktor frowned. "What about you?"

"I could do something too! Maybe I could poison them?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying we could do all those things, but that's not what we're about. Every one of us has turned his or her back on such a way of life. Each of us has been persecuted in some way because we have been perceived as a threat, or as something too terrible even to look at. Well, I'm not going back to my old ways. I made a promise to myself, and I know most of you have too."

"So what are we going to do?" Harriet said from the doorway.

Ankh stood up. "You are going back to bed for a start."

Harriet shook her head. "No, I'm a part of this too. Viktor, you mentioned spells and curses. Is that an option? Make them forget they were ever here?"

Viktor turned to Barbara. Barbara pulled two dried chicken feet out of her pocket and threw them on the table. One of them landed claws up, the other claws down. "Auspices look poor," she said.

Viktor nodded. "I think it's the same as when I try to cast a thrall on someone. These men have had such an emotional experience, it will be too hard to suppress for any length of time. Besides which, if we send them away with gaps in their memories, they'll just come back, or someone else will."

"A bribe?" Blake suggested.

Harriet shook her head again. "The coffers are running pretty low. And I suspect Trevor Romanoff can afford to outbid us."

Blake thought a moment. "A threat then. I'm sure we can make that stick."

"Agreed," Viktor said.

And so it was that Hugo and Jim, the latter's head smeared with ground scorpion abdomens and tightly bandaged, were set adrift in the dinghy, and warned never to return. Several hours in the dungeon being frightened by Norm, Blake, Skully and the sisters, all working in shifts, had knocked the confidence out of them. A final chat with Viktor had sealed the deal. They had sworn to return to the mainland and not discuss the castle residents with anyone. Hugo would report to Trevor Romanoff that the castle was absolutely worthless. And if they deviated from this plan in any way, they would be hunted down, and brought back to the castle to live out their lives in the dungeon.

Blake followed them at a distance, watching as they clambered ashore, climbed into their fancy car, and drove off. The pair were also keenly watched by the local residents, who immediately began to mutter to each other, looking suspiciously out across the sea to the castle. One of them spotted Blake bobbing in the water, and spat on the street. Blake took up the dinghy's rope and swam slowly back home.

# Chapter Nine

Things had changed in the village since the last time Harriet had visited. She was used to nervous glances, of course, but she had, over the years, maintained a sort of uneasy truce with the villagers. Now she found that the windows and doors of every shop were barred to her. Humiliatingly, the villagers had left all her usual groceries outside their shops on the pavement, so she walked along, stooping to collect packages with her uninjured arm, and dropping coins in their place. She supposed this was to be expected after first sending Eleanor back as a jabbering wreck, and then Hugo and his badly wounded sidekick. Still, she had personally never done the villagers any harm. As usual, the library would be her last stop. Here at least she could expect some human companionship, of a sort. But, to Harriet's dismay, she found the library also shut up tight. Taped to the outside of the door was another letter addressed to Viktor. Her heart sank as she peeled it off. Their ordeal wasn't over yet.

Once she'd returned to the castle, Viktor had taken the letter, read it, and called another meeting. Now he looked over the assembled group once more, and then began to read. The letter was terse and to the point.

Viktor,

As you are aware, I recently employed the London firm Dixon Realty to assess the value of my Mortavian property in which you currently reside. Hugo Dixon has since ceased trading, but before his surprisingly early retirement, informed me that the castle has no value whatsoever on the real estate market.

At this, there was a cheer from Skully, and Blake high-fived Norm, then ruefully rubbed his stinging hand. Viktor held up a finger, and continued.

However, my financial advisors have suggested that the castle should be demolished and the island developed into a golf course. As this will ultimately bring in a stream of revenue, I have decided to proceed. I am hereby giving you notice that demolition will commence....

The residents began to make noises of concern and dismay, and Viktor trailed off. He waited until he had their attention again, and then said, "He gives a date about three weeks from now."

There was silence for a moment, and then Blake stood up. "Well, I say we fight them," he announced. Skully was quick to agree, his skull bobbling up and down as he nodded. Callie cheered, Barbara cackled and Boo, Lou and Sue flew a few defiant loop-the-loops. Norm looked at them all, his brow knitted in confusion.

Meanwhile, Ankh frowned, and Harriet bit her lip, looking up at Viktor with shining eyes. "It's your castle, Viktor," she said. "So it's your call. If you want to fight, we'll stand with you."

Viktor looked at Harriet's intense expression of loyalty and trust. He regarded her arm in its sling, still heavily bandaged. Then he sighed. "No," he said. "Fighting will be the last resort. This demolition crew – they will have bulldozers and wrecking balls, and who knows what else. We can't fight them all. Callie, Barbara and Harriet, Blake, and even you, Norm – you're all too vulnerable. I'm not losing any one of you."

Again there was silence. It seemed to stretch out forever. Then Viktor noticed that Harriet was frowning, concentrating hard, her lips moving. "The last resort..." she murmured. "The last resort..."

"Sorry?" said Viktor.

Harriet looked up at him, eyes gleaming now with excitement. "It might just work," she said. "It might just work..." And then she began to outline her idea.

#

Barbara Yaga used magic to dispatch the parchment containing the wording for Harriet's advertisement, and so it arrived in somewhat less than perfect condition on the desk of the troll who ran the classified section. For a start the parchment was accompanied by a mass of chicken feathers. And secondly... The troll picked it up and sniffed cautiously at a smear on the corner. Yes, and secondly, it had a streak of chicken poo on it. However, the content met the requirements of the newspaper, and more importantly, the parchment had also been accompanied by the requisite number of gold coins, which had materialised on the desk in a pleasing fashion, with little clinks. It had also just met the deadline for this week's issue of the Supernatural Supplement. So the troll squeezed the advertisement into the layout of the classified section, and then took the whole thing down to the typesetter.

The typesetter was a ghoul – tall and grey, long-faced and floaty. He gave the troll the creeps, but since the newspaper's sole printing press was actually the ghostly remains of a press which had burned in the Great Fire of London, only a ghost could physically pick up and manipulate the spirits of the copperplate letters and operate the spectral remains of the press. The typesetter took the layout morosely, his spooky fingers brushing the troll's hand. The troll shuddered. He was sure the ghoul did that on purpose. There was no use complaining, however. The editor was a ghoul too.

The typesetter set the type, and before long the presses were running. The next day, the Supernatural Supplement would be winging its ghostly way to subscribers all over Europe.

#

"You're rubbish," the fat birthday boy said, and threw his saveloy sausage. It bounced off Swizelsticks' head, leaving a dollop of tomato sauce on his forehead in between his bushy grey eyebrows and his moon-and-star-encrusted blue velvet conical hat.

"Oh dear, oh dear," the wizard said. "Erm... how about this then? He waved his red and black cape first one way, then the other, whipped it to one side, and revealed a pair of startled-looking white doves. One dove immediately keeled over sideways, stiff legs poking up in the air, stone cold dead of shock. The other took off into the air, flying over the buffet table, and dropping a large, wet, white poo precisely in the centre of the birthday cake. It would have been undetectable on top of the white icing, had thirty pairs of eyes, including those of the birthday boy's mother, not seen it happen.

"I'm not paying you," the fat boy's fat mother assured him.

Swizelsticks sighed. People were so hard to please. Conjuring two living, breathing birds out of thin air (albeit one that didn't live or breathe for very long) was difficult work. But did these people appreciate it? Not at all.

He sighed again, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "And now, for my last trick," he said, which got a rousing cheer. Swizelsticks figured that this cheer was for all the wrong reasons, but performed a sweeping bow anyway. He took off his hat with a flourish, waved his wand over it, and then had a good rummage inside. Although he felt something furry, the floppy ears he had expected to encounter were strangely absent. Instead, something bit down on his finger. Hard.

"Yeee-ow!" Swizelsticks yelled, pulling his hand sharply out of his hat. Dangling from his index finger, clamped on with powerful jaws, was the biggest, meanest rat the wizard had ever seen, and he'd seen a few. He hopped around, howling and shaking his hand while the audience laughed. Finally he managed to disengage the ferocious rodent. With a final angry glare at Swizelsticks, it leapt away. He was gratified to hear the screams of the fat mother as it ran up her skirts. Pleased with the opportunity of escape this distraction afforded, he scooped up his equipment and scurried back to his VW van. This evening had not been the highlight of his career, but, he noted gloomily, it had not been the low point either. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine coughed, choked and died. His fuel reserve was at zero. Muttering, he got out of the cab, unscrewed the fuel cap, and waved his wand over it. He was rewarded with the sharp, tangy smell of petrol. At least I can do something right, he told himself. Suddenly, he was hit on the back of the head with something. "Ow!" he yelped, and whirled around. The Supernatural Supplement was lying at his feet. He picked it up, got into the VW, and drove home.

#

"Edgar, throw the switch!" the Professor commanded.

Edgar bowed, scraped, said, "Yeth, Mathster," then threw the large copper switch. The points connected, and electricity surged through the system. Electrons raced each other through the wires, eager to be the first to power the mighty machine. The current flowing in the massive coil of copper wire induced a magnet field in the centre of the coil. The magnetic field deflected heavy irons plates which rammed into a second set of plates driving them up and down in a rhythmic pattern. These plates were contoured and moulded, dimpled like golf-balls, and covered in luxurious foam-padding. The professor lowered his feet onto the foam pads and sighed as his feet were pummelled by 1000 Watts of power. His electric foot massager was a success. "Edgar, more power," he called out, reclining back in his seat and placing slices of cucumber over his eyes.

Grimacing, Edgar said "Yeth, Mathster," again, and ratcheted a dial through several notches, increasing the power to the machine. The electrons, now beginning to feel the tyranny of the high voltage which compelled them to race through the wires, gave up their energy with little gasps of despair. The magnetic field strengthened, the iron plates spun faster and the massage plates pummelled with increasing speed against the soles of the Professor's size 14 feet.

The Professor writhed with pleasure and cried out, "more!"

Edgar bit his lip. "I can't give it any more," he said, tentatively.

"More!" the Professor roared.

Wincing, Edgar dialled the machine up two more notches. The voltage surged. The electrons whimpered. The magnetic field intensified. The iron plates accelerated. The massage plates moved in a blur. The whole machine began to shudder and suddenly there was an alarming whine. This was enhanced by the acrid smell of burning foam rubber.

"My feet!" the Professor yelled, beating furiously at the sparks which were trying to ignite the hairs on his big toes.

"Itths going to blow!" Edgar lisped.

"Flee!" the Professor screamed.

As master and servant ran away from their latest conflagration, Edgar Gore rolled his eyes, and wondered if they would ever stop fleeing. Suddenly, the Supernatural Supplement materialised out of the air. Without missing a step, Edgar caught it up and kept running.

#

Reginald Osis patted the flank of the large black charger. "Easy Boy," he murmured. The massive horse loved the free space of the open skies. It did not like lurking behind dumpsters in smelly, seedy alleyways behind pubs and off-licenses. Unfortunately, this was often where it found itself. It snorted hot ghostly breath from its nostrils, and clattered phantom hooves against the cobbles impatiently.

A truck pulled into the alleyway, the door to the cab swung open, and the delivery driver jumped out, whistling to herself. Reginald groaned. A woman. Worse still, a woman with pale skin and red hair. Reginald didn't like women very much, and he especially didn't like women with pale skin and red hair. Queen Elizabeth had had pale skin and red hair. Reginald had flirted shamelessly with Queen Liz, showing off daring displays of horsemanship, and it had paid off. He had become a favourite of the queen's court, receiving special favours, up to and including his knighthood. And then newly knighted Sir Osis, Reggie to his friends, had become smug, and let his guard down. He had consumed far too much honey mead at a banquet one evening, and winked at a particularly cute lady-in-waiting right in front of the queen. Well, that had been the end of that, and the end of him too. The very next day he was executed for treason. Women!

He had been led onto a stage, requested to kneel, and then the next he knew, he was looking at the inside of a basket and hearing the cheers of the crowd. He had willed himself to stand up. The ghost of his body did stand up, leaving his actual body still slumped on the ground. The ghost of his body staggered around for a minute, and then came around to the front of the guillotine to collect the ghost of his head from out of the basket, leaving his actual head behind. And that was the start of his afterlife, not to mention that of his charger. Amazingly, the queen was so mad at him that she had his horse executed too.

Reginald the ghost shook his head, literally holding it between his hands and waggling it back and forth. This helped to clear his thoughts, focusing him back on the present, and tonight's mission. The woman had rolled up the side of the truck and was unloading the first case. Reginald read the side: Rum. Ugh – too syrupy sweet for his liking. Too much like honey mead. She took the case through the back door of the pub, and then returned for the next case. Ah, here we go, Reginald thought. Irish whiskey. Excellent. He let go of the reins, flew off the horse and swooped right through the woman. The woman jumped, swore, and dropped the case onto the cobbles. Reginald was gratified to hear the smashing of glass bottles. Sighing, the woman dragged the remains of the case back to the truck, and hoisted it in, tea-brown liquid dripping on her uniform. Quickly, Reginald snatched the four phantom whiskey bottles out of the air before they could dissipate, binding them to the Earth, just as his ghostly form and that of his horse had been. Four bottles! Excellent.

The Supernatural Supplement appeared out of thin air at that moment and landed at the big horse's feet. Reginald scooped it up. Something to drink, and something to read! Even better.

#

"Ciao, Bella," the beautiful Italian youth said to Violetta, blowing her a kiss, before pulling away on his beautiful silver Vespa scooter, without signalling, into the maelstrom that was known as the traffic of Florence. Violetta sighed and shook her head to straighten out her helmet-flattened hair. As usual, the sleek black bob fell perfectly into place. She had decided on this hairstyle when it had achieved the height of fashion back in the nineteen twenties, and had stuck with it ever since. Why not? It suited her then, and it suited her now.

The spike heels of her calf-skin boots clacked against the cobbles as she made her way to her flat above one of the shops on the Ponte Vecchio. Expensive real estate certainly, but then, Violetta wasn't paying for it. Violetta never paid for anything.

As she mounted the steps, she realised she was hungry. Why hadn't she invited the youth in? She hadn't fed in at least a week. As usual, she had been too busy, attending gallery openings and fashion shows. Remembering the latest of these she yawned. Life in Florence was becoming too, too dreary – just an endless blur of attending film premieres, restaurants, opera, ballet, and dances with youthful Vespa-driving boyfriends. Maybe it was time to move on. There were other cities, other experiences, other tastes. The blood of these Italian men who she feasted upon tasted too strongly of garlic anyway. She pushed open the door to her apartment, and found an envelope on the mat just inside. Surprisingly, it was addressed to her. She flipped it over and read the return address. One delicately tweezed eyebrow arched. Well, well. This was interesting.

# Chapter Ten

Things were almost back to normal in the village. Apart from the four days around the full moon when she had been indisposed (that is, busy bounding on all fours after rabbits in the fields), Harriet had been making daily trips to the library to check for a reply to the letter they had sent Trevor. Seeing her every day without incident was beginning to make the villagers more relaxed in her presence. Not friendly, but certainly less hostile. The librarian had opened her doors again too, which Harriet appreciated. She needed to get lots of information if the new venture was to succeed.

Now, today, as she walked into the library, the librarian gave her a shy smile, from behind the toughened glass. "I got you that book you ordered," she said, "and a letter has come for the castle." She poked both through the slot in the glass, and it was all Harriet could do not to snatch them from her. She glanced briefly at the cover of the book – Inns and Outs: A guide to the hospitality industry – and then turned her attention to the letter. She yearned to rip it open and know the answer right then and there. Would they be given the go-ahead? Would her idea come to fruition? But of course the letter was addressed to Viktor, so instead she slid the envelope into the pocket of her tweed skirt, thanked the librarian, and hurried back to Blake and the dinghy.

Blake took one look at Harriet's excited face, and knew the letter had come. "What did he say?" he asked excitedly.

"Now, now," said Harriet, shaking a finger at him. "All in good time!"

Their return trip to the castle was made at record speed, with both Blake towing, and Harriet rowing, in order to exercise her almost healed arm. Both of them leapt onto the dock as soon as they arrived, and ran up to the side entrance of the castle. They burst through the door, and raced along the passageway, Blake leaving a trail of seawater behind him. They came skidding to a halt in the grand foyer, where Viktor was waiting, eyebrow raised, hand out, ready to receive the missive. Harriet placed it into his palm. Viktor made a smooth flicking motion and a fine silver letter opener appeared from out of his cuff. Deftly, he slit open the envelope and shook out the single sheet of paper. Face impassive, he read the contents, and then looked up at the others. Harriet held her breath, as Viktor began to read.

Viktor,

I read your most recent letter with interest. While I appreciate your offer to rent my castle from me, I feel that as you have been living there rent-free for most of your life, at the very least you owe me many years of back rent. However, my lawyer informs me that I have no legal recourse to this outstanding money.

Although constructing a golf course will lead to revenue in the long run, the costs associated with the demolition of the castle and preparation of the site will be high. Therefore, it is with reluctance that I agree to your proposal. However, the monthly rent you suggested is laughable. Make it twice that, and you have a deal.

My bank account details follow. Please transfer the funds monthly. If you miss a payment, you will be evicted – forcibly if necessary.

Regards,

Trevor Romanoff

Throughout the reading, Harriet and Blake's expressions had changed from fear, to joy, to consternation. "What a greedy man," Harriet said, finally.

"Well, you did argue that money was his motivating factor when you came up with the idea," Blake said. "I guess you were right. Anyway – looks like we got a stay of execution!"

"Yes, but he's asking for double the rent we had budgeted," Harriet mused. "Putting aside the money we need for food and groceries, we had expected our coin reserves to pay for about two years of rent. But now it looks like we can only pay rent for a year."

"Which is why phase two of your plan has to be a success," Viktor said calmly. "As I am sure it will be."

"Actually, given the cost of everything we'll need to buy to get the castle up to scratch, it will take our rent reserves down to six months at the most."

"Then," said Viktor, ominously, "We'd better not fail."

Harriet shook herself in a particularly dog-like fashion, clapped her hands and rubbed them briskly together. "Well then, let's get started. Operation Last Resort is going ahead."

And so, yet another meeting was called. The first stage in the plan was to draw up a list of staff and responsibilities. There was much discussion, but eventually everyone agreed with the roles they had been assigned. Harriet pinned the final list on a cork board:

Viktor Manager

Harriet Head of Housekeeping, human resources manager

Boo, Sue, Lou, Maids

Ankh Physician, first aid

Skully Chef

Callie Beautician

Barbara Babysitter

Norm Gym instructor, health and fitness

Blake Swimming instructor

Vacant position Receptionist

Vacant position Bartender

Vacant position Caretaker, maintenance

Vacant position Bellhop

Vacant position(s) Entertainment

She looked over the list. "We'll each need to take responsibility for our own areas, you understand? That includes everything from preparing for the guests, right down to disguising yourselves if need be." She looked pointedly at Skully, Blake, Ankh and Norm. Then she looked back at the list. "That's a lot of vacant positions. Any responses to our advertisement yet, Barbara?"

Barbara pulled out three chicken eggs, and rolled them onto the table top. Their unorthodox geometry made them roll in a circle right back to her. Sighing she cracked each one open, pulling long streamers from the centre of the eggs. She passed them to Harriet.

"Three responses, eh?" Harriet said, wiping yolk off the streamers with distaste. She hated Barbara's unconventional methods of communicating with the rest of the supernatural community. What was wrong with a simple typed CV stapled in the corner?

She read the first streamer and nodded, impressed. "This guy is a professor! He's mechanically minded, and an inventor to boot! He's on the run from an angry mob, and willing to work for room and board. I think we've found our maintenance man. Oh, wait a moment. He says he doesn't work alone. He'll be bringing his sidekick, a Mr. E. Gore, who apparently 'lives only to serve', according to the professor. And there's a photo. Yikes! Well, maybe that hump would be good for toting bags upstairs? Maybe this Mr. Gore wouldn't mind a job as a bellhop? Barbara, you want to send a reply, offering them the jobs, please?" Barbara nodded, and pulled a long chicken feather from her pocket. She scratched a note in the air with it, and then put it away. Harriet picked up the next streamer. "This is from someone with the unfortunate name of Swizelsticks. He says he's a wizard. He's good with magic tricks, conjuring, potions, that kind of thing. I guess we could get him in as a children's entertainer?" At this, Barbara began to protest, howling that she was in charge of the children, and that a mere wizard's powers were no match for hers. "Okay, okay," Harriet relented. "We'll tell him 'no thanks,' okay?"

Barbara calmed down, but then Skully had an idea. ""If this guy is good with potions, he could probably make a mean cocktail, right?"

"Brilliant!" Harriet said. "Bartender it is. Barbara, send a message, please." Again, Barbara scribbled with the chicken feather in the air.

"And the last scroll is from... a Sir Reginald Osis. Well! That would lend a bit of class to the place. What can he do? Oh... ride horses. Well, that's not much good to us, is it?"

"Hang on," said Ankh. "What is he?"

Harriet looked at the streamer again. "A ghost, class two. He can project a corporeal form, but not interact with the material world – the opposite of Boo, Sue and Lou, who are class ones – right ladies?" Their wispy forms nodded. Harriet continued. "And he comes with a horse, also class two."

"Well then," said Ankh. "He won't cost us anything to feed. I've read that horse riding is a popular hobby. We could offer treks around the island. Why not take him on?"

Harriet considered. Horse trekking would be a draw-card, she realised. "Okay," she agreed. "Barbara, do the honours. So providing everyone accepts the jobs, that just leaves us short a receptionist, and some entertainment."

"Actually," said Skully, "I know where I can dig up a really jumping swing band. Just let me get a message to my buddy in New Orleans, and they'll be here faster than you can say jambalaya, crawfish pie and file gumbo."

"Excellent," said Harriet. "That leaves..."

"Violetta," said Viktor. "My cousin. I have already communicated with her via a letter, and she has agreed to return to the family home. I knew she would see sense one day. She's clever that one, and would cope admirably with hospitality work."

"Well!" said Harriet. "That's sorted then." She smiled. Her plan looked like it just might work. She felt a tremendous weight lifting off her shoulders, but it thumped right down again when she remembered how much other work was left to do. Now it was time to begin planning the accommodation side of things. She pulled out the blueprints of the castle and the group began the long task of sorting out where their paying guests would sleep.

Suddenly, Norm spoke up. "Mr. E. Gore?" he said slowly. "And the Professor?" He picked up the photo from the table where Harriet had dropped it, and looked at it intently.

"What's the matter, Norm?" Callie asked him. Norm looked at Callie, then at Harriet. Harriet's sleeves were rolled up, and there was a pencil tucked behind one ear. She was working hard to give them all a future at the castle.

"Uh... nothing," said Norm. "Nothing's the matter."

# Chapter Eleven

The heavyset woman wore white cotton gloves over her hands, a long, loose gown, and a broad sunhat swathed in scarves. Not an inch of her skin was visible. Behind the veils it was possible to make out that she wore large sunglasses. She had in her possession more than ten pieces of unwieldy baggage, which had made the journey across the Atlantic Ocean stowed in the luggage hold of the cruise liner. Now it was time to disembark, and the lady sweet-talked various porters into carrying her possessions to the small passenger ferry which was tied up about a hundred metres along the marina. They scrambled to do her bidding. She assured everyone in an official uniform that as she was not staying in Greece, there would be no need for her to pass through customs and immigration. She had such a honey-edged voice that the officials readily agreed that this would not be a problem, not at all.

Once she was safely alone aboard the ferry, she checked that all the curtains were closed, then sang out a "yoo-hoo," and at once, a skeleton came out of the closet. "Skully!" she cried, pulling him to her chest in an almost-bone-crushing hug.

"Hella!" Skully said, voice muffled by her folds of flesh. There was a slapping sound out on the deck, the door opened, and Blake slipped into the cabin.

He was spluttering, coughing up unpleasant detritus. "Not the cleanest harbour they've got here," he said. "Oh, hello!"

"Blake Lagoon, this is my very good friend and chanteuse, Hella. Hella Fitzgerald." The two shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you," Blake said. "But where's the band?"

Hella took off her hat and unwound her scarf, revealing rubbery green skin which hung in droopy flaps. "They've come second class," she said, nodding towards the suitcases and steamer trunks. "Let's get them out so you can meet them." Blake turned towards the first case, but Hella stopped him. "That's the drum-kit," she said. "And this here's a guitar, this is a saxophone. We were told you had a piano, so luckily we didn't have to bring the Duke's. He's in here."

She unzipped a suitcase, and a dapper skeleton in evening tails bounded out. He had no skin, but somehow a toupee was attached to his head, and on his face there was a pencil-thin moustache, like Viktor's. Hella introduced him as Duke Skellington. "Charmed," he said.

The next case contained a mostly skeletal man, who had retained a thin layer of yellowish skin. Unfortunately, pus oozed from various lesions on his body. Blake knew he was no picture postcard himself, but this guy made Blake look downright handsome. "Fester Young," he mumbled, almost apologetically. "I play the sax."

Out of the final case, what appeared to be a mostly intact man emerged. His face had pale skin criss-crossed with scars, one bulgy eye, and an eye-patch presumably hiding an empty socket. He was dressed in a headscarf and tattered rags. Once he had climbed completely out, Blake realised that he was not in fact intact – far from it. One arm was replaced with a hook, and one leg with a peg. "Brineheart's the name," the man said. "Djangled Brineheart. I'm an old seadog, but I plays a bit of strings on the side."

The steamer trunk was beginning to thump alarmingly, as the final band member indicated his desire to join the others. Hella popped the latches, and the drummer climbed out. He was also a skeleton, but he had attached an extra set of limbs to his shoulders, so that he had four arms. As Blake stared, the man explained that it helped him to play his wild drum solos. He said his name was Chuck Webb, but that Blake could call him Spider, since everyone else did.

The band then began to reminisce with Skully as they stretched what muscles they had left, and un-kinked their joints. They had been a long time in the cargo hold en route from New Orleans. Finally, Skully suggested that they push off. It would take a few hours yet to get from Greece to Mortavia. He took the helm, but Brineheart almost immediately pushed him out of the way. "I'll handle this, landlubber," he teased. As the ferry chugged from the Ionian Sea into the Adriatic, Fester took out his saxophone and began to play. Hella started to sing. Blake felt the itch of the ocean calling to him, so told the others he would swim back. As he dived into the water, he recognised the tune. "You've got me in between... the devil and the deep blue sea..."

#

The elderly VW van trundled over the cobblestones, coughing and spluttering great plumes of smoke from its exhaust. The driver patted the dashboard superstitiously. "Nearly there, old girl," he said. It was hard to believe the van had survived the journey from England, across the channel and then across most of Europe and into Mortavia. Still, if Swizelsticks hadn't been a wizard, it would most likely have died at Dover. He had conjured up a number of spare hoses, bands, cogs and coils. Unfortunately, conjured materials did not have a long life span. As the van rolled to a stop at the waterfront, it coughed once more, then died, the engine spewing out a spectacular shower of sparks, along with the hoses, bands, cogs and coils. Villagers raced to their windows to peer suspiciously out at the source of the commotion. Swizelsticks began to run his fingers through his long beard, as he did in times of stress, and then he realised that his beard was mostly gone. He had had it trimmed into a neat goatee. He also had his long hair tied back into a ponytail, and in his right earlobe, there winked a sparkling new diamond earring. His wizard's robes were safely stored in a trunk in his mother's attic, although he had brought his hat, just in case. Instead of the robes, he wore tight blue jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a leather vest. He made eye contact with himself in the rear-vision mirror. "Looking groovy," he told his reflection, unconvincingly. Since receiving the extraordinary offer to become a bartender, Swizelsticks had felt the need for a makeover. He'd also rented a Hollywood movie about bartenders and had been practising his bottle juggling skills. He was going to wow this Harriet Fullmoon. What a lovely name that was, he mused. He hoped she was a fox.

Swizelsticks looked at his new multi-function digital watch. He was about nine hours early for his connecting ride to the island. He could see the castle off in the distance however. What would this new life hold for him? It had to be better than doing children's parties. He climbed into the back of the van, made room between the cases of alcohol and mixers he'd been asked to bring, and stretched out for a nap.

#

The sound of five Vespa motors purring over the cobblestones seven hours later brought many of the same villagers racing back to their windows. A tall figure dressed entirely in black leather was riding the lead scooter. The driver was flanked by two more on each side, riding in V-formation. The stylish, streamlined effect that this might have created was ruined by the excess baggage that each scooter carried. Three were loaded with small suitcases, one had a collection of hat boxes, and the scooter in front had a carry-cage strapped just behind the rider. The old lady in the fish shop caught a glimpse of evil green eyes staring out of the blackness of the cage, and she backed away, crossing herself.

The scooters stopped alongside the pier, and as the riders in back unloaded the luggage, the figure in front removed her helmet, and shook out a perfect cascade of glossy black hair, which fell in two sheets either side of her porcelain face. She licked her lips and turned around, surveying the shops on the other side of the road. There was an audible collective intake of breath as the menfolk of the village watched her, and then an audible reproving sound, like the clucking of chickens, as their womenfolk called them away from the windows.

Violetta collected her bags and lined them up neatly by the dock. Each rider removed his helmet and lined up to say his farewell. It was the turn of the womenfolk now to press their noses against the windowpanes and stare. "Ciao, Emilio," Violetta said, kissing the first man. "Salve, Giovanni," she said, kissing the second. "Arrivederci, Antonio," she told the third, with another kiss. "And Allessandro," she said, stopping at the last man. "I think I'll miss you most of all. Addio amore mio." Then a final smooch, before she turned her back on them dismissively. They got the message, climbed back on their scooters, and left the village. There was a collective sigh from the womenfolk, and a collective chuckling from the men. Violetta opened the carry cage and a sleek black shadow sprang out. It smelt fresh fish in the air, and yowled. Violetta clicked her fingers and the sinewy cat leapt to her shoulders and curled around the nape of her neck like a fur stole. Violetta pulled her black leather trenchcoat tighter around her body and stood, still as a statue, staring out to sea where the castle stood on its island, waiting for her to come home.

# Chapter Twelve

Violetta was still standing and staring when the boat arrived. It was a small passenger ferry, able to carry twenty to thirty people. Although not new, it had been constructed in the last thirty or so years, and so it surprised Violetta. She would never have imagined Viktor would have approved of anything modern. Even a paddlesteamer would have been too cutting-edge for her cousin. Well, well, she thought. Viktor is having to make a few sacrifices. She whistled softly, and Ebony came to her out of the shadows where she had no doubt been tormenting the village rodents. The cat sat at the feet of her mistress, tail curled neatly around her paws, and began daintily to clean her face. As the boat chugged closer still, Violetta sensed movement from the garishly-painted broken-down hippy van which was also parked on the wharf. She already knew who was inside it – or at least she knew as much as she needed to know. She could smell his presence in the air. He was as broken-down as his van. His equivalent human age was somewhere near fifty, or sixty, but he himself wasn't quite human. He was wearing aftershave, but this was not a regular habit, so she assumed he was intending to impress someone. Well, he didn't impress her. As the door to the van opened and the man clambered out, Violetta and Ebony both lifted their noses and scented the air. Then mistress and cat looked at each other, lips curled in disapprobation.

Now the boat had lined up alongside the pier. A pale blue aquatic man, dressed only in the briefest Speedos, pulled himself out of the water and tied the boat to the railing. He waved at Violetta, and at the approaching man from the van, then slipped back into the water. Violetta frowned. Some welcoming committee this was. Still, she hadn't expected anything more from Viktor.

"Hi," said a buoyant voice behind her. "Are you heading for the castle too?"

"You can carry my bags to the boat," Violetta said, without turning around.

"Oh, um... righto," said Swizelsticks. He gathered up as many of her bags as he could, casting a quick balancing spell to make sure they didn't topple. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realise the castle was open to guests already. My name's Swizelsticks, and I'll be your bartender during your stay," he said, with a touch of pride.

Now Violetta did turn to face him, and he saw no twinkle in her dark eyes. "I am not a guest, Mr. Swizelsticks."

"No?" the wizard asked uncertainly.

"No," Violetta said, marching towards the pier. "I am the owner of the castle."

A woman appeared at the hatchway, extended a short gangplank and tottered across it. She strode purposefully towards Violetta and Swizelsticks, smiling fiercely, but before she was halfway to them, Ebony puffed up like a bottlebrush, and began to yowl and hiss and spit. The woman froze. Violetta saw her pupils dilate and then her body sort of... heaved, the edges blurring. Violetta immediately scooped up the cat, who struggled wildly, and finally managed to stuff the violent ball of fluff back in her carry cage. When she turned to face the woman again, she was back to normal, but was not advancing any further. Suddenly, Violetta was aware that Swizelsticks was muttering and waving his hands over the carry cage. "Hey!" she yelled, pushing him aside. Ebony looked serenely through the bars at Violetta and purred.

Swizelsticks spread his hands and shrugged. "Just a calming spell," he said. Violetta snorted. "Oh, hey," he went on. "She's scratched you to pieces." Violetta looked at her hands, where blood was welling up from several long grooves. Her canine teeth lengthened at the sight and smell of the blood, and slowly, she licked each wound clean, the scratches healing themselves completely. Swizelsticks watched in fascination and shuddered. "Oh," he said. "You're a..."

Violetta walked down the pier to where the woman was standing. She was short, and stocky, about fifty or so by human standards, and looked a no-nonsense sort. The woman thrust out her hand. "Hello. You must be Violetta. I'm Harriet Fullmoon. I must apologise for my reactions just now. No one told me you were bringing a cat."

Violetta gripped Harriet's muscular hand with her own pale, slim-fingered one, and briefly shook it. "No one told me there would be a were-wolf," she replied, and pushed past Harriet onto the boat.

Harriet frowned, then turned her attention to Swizelsticks. "Hello, hello," he said. "That was a bit of excitement, wasn't it? Still, no harm done. I'll just drop these bags inside, then get the rest, and the kitty-cat, and my own luggage, and the cases of drinks, and then we can be away, alright? Do you think we should bring the scooter too?"

"If Ms. Romanoff wants her scooter," Harriet said, loud enough for her voice to carry into the cabin, "she can get it herself. I'll give you a hand with the rest."

Harriet and Swizelsticks made several trips to load the boat, and eventually a scowling Violetta joined them, wheeling her Vespa along the pier and onboard. Harriet smiled and winked at Swizelsticks, and there was definitely a twinkle in those eyes, he noticed.

"Well," she said, once everything was collected together in the cabin of the boat. "That about does it. We were expecting two more staff members, but..." she looked at her watch, "they're an hour late, so..."

At that moment there was a loud bang like a gunshot. Harriet dropped into a crouch, then looked up, embarrassed. Swizelsticks held his hand out to help her up. "Just a car backfiring, I think," he said. There were a few more bangs to illustrate his point, and then a rhythmic rattling, whirring, swooshing, squelching sort of sound. Harriet and Swizelsticks both raced on deck to see what was approaching. Blake was already standing on the pier, grinning as he watched a curious vehicle lurch, lunge, limp, and at times, scuttle down the street. It looked a bit like a house, and a bit like a crab, a bit like a train, and a bit like a tree. It had wheels and cranks and pulleys on the sides, articulated legs underneath and a network of branching steam pipes up above. It was made of polished wood, gleaming brass and sparkling stained glass. It creaked to a halt in the middle of the road. Harriet saw curtains twitch in the villagers' houses. A set of stairs unfolded themselves from the vehicle in a jerky fashion, and then a short hunch-backed man emerged, blinking in the glare of the streetlights. He carried a broom. A second man appeared, tall and spindly. As the second man descended the stairs, the first moved ahead of him, brushing down each step in preparation for his footfall.

"Excuse me," Harriet said to Blake and Swizelsticks, then walked forward to greet the Professor and his assistant. She spoke to them for a while, gesturing back towards the boat. The Professor shook his head, and went back into the vehicle. The hunchback followed him, and so did the collapsible set of stairs. "Uh-oh," said Blake. Harriet returned to the boat. "Problem?" he asked her.

"No, they're going to follow us."

The vehicle made a few more banging noises as parts of it retracted and other parts extended. Soon it was roughly the shape of a boat, balanced on two massive duck feet.

"Okay, Captain," Harriet called out, knocking on a bench along one side of the cabin. The seat flipped up, and Djangled Brineheart climbed out. Since Skully had collected the jazz band a week ago, the zombie ex-pirate guitar player had virtually commandeered the ferry that Harriet had purchased for the castle. No matter, he was a good Captain, and they needed all the help they could get.

The boat containing the werewolf, the wizard, the vampire and the zombie pirate pulled away from the pier, with the aquaman swimming after it. There was a bang, a crash, and a splash, and soon the Professor and the hunchback were on their way too.

#

"I've got goo... under my skin," Hella sang. "I've got goo... deep in the heart of me. So deep in my heart... it's nearly a part of me..."

Happy chatter blended with the smooth jazz tune. Harriet looked around the room at her staff members relaxing and socialising, and sighed. They had earned this party. In the last three weeks, they had all worked so hard to bring the castle up to scratch, ready for their grand opening. The Professor and Edgar had wired every room up with electricity supplied by their own generator, had installed plumbing in the bathrooms, and had added assorted time-saving gadgets to every room. Swizelsticks had completely redecorated the dining hall, (which he was now inexplicably calling the disco) placing a fully stocked bar at one end of the garish room, constructing a dance-floor and placing tables and chairs around the perimeter. He had also created an enticing menu of fancy cocktails. Skully had been hard at work on his own menus, and had drafted in Duke, Spider and Fester as kitchen-hands, since their musical duties would not take up much time, and they had a lot of time to kill, since zombies don't need to sleep. Skully had placed lots of orders for kitchen equipment, serving plates, cutlery and of course the ingredients he needed. Boo, Sue and Lou had organised the bedrooms, requesting assorted sheets, pillowcases, blankets and towels. Ankh had kitted out a doctor's office and waiting room, and had begun to create and stockpile some deeply disturbing ointments, lotions and salves, made from the ground up bodies of assorted creatures that scuttled, hopped and slid. Callie had turned the room next door to this into a veritable temple of beauty, with sparkling mirrors on all walls. These, she admitted, would help prevent her accidentally turning people into stone since she didn't have to look at them directly. Pots and pots of face masks, moisturisers, balms, lotions, creams, shampoos and makeup had been delivered to the village, collected and carted up the stairs to her salon. And lastly, Blake had spent some time helping Brineheart to refurbish the ferry, cleaning the underside, while the pirate painted the cabin.

All in all, Harriet thought, it had gone better than she had planned. "Champagne?" Swizelsticks offered, sidling up to her and interrupting her thoughts. She took a flute of straw coloured wine from the silver tray that the bartender held out, and sipped, savouring the dance of bubbles on her tongue.

Of course, not everything was going smoothly.

There had been a massive amount of supplies to order, and paying for it all meant their gold reserves were very low. They could afford to pay maybe five months rent to Trevor Romanoff, and then they would be broke. So the resort had to make money.

Keeping track of everyone's requests, placing orders and collecting the goods had taken up most of Harriet's time, and so she had trusted the rest of the staff to get on with their areas of expertise. Both Barbara and Norm had assured Harriet that their areas were progressing well. Norm had spent a lot of time fiddling about in the dungeon, turning the torture equipment into fitness machinery. It was fiddly work for Norm, particularly as he had two left hands. Unfortunately, he had neglected the décor. It still looked... dungeony. Never mind – they could get away with that for the time being. The problem was the childcare centre that Barbara had been developing, which also looked... dungeony. When Harriet had gently pointed out to Barbara that soft toys and bright colours were preferable to bare stone and metal spikes, Barbara had begun to rant about her own delightfully bleak childhood in Poland. Harriet had relented, requesting only that Barbara put up some animal posters, but since then had not had time to check she had done so. Still, there was only one child booked to arrive in the next few days, so maybe a special room wouldn't be required, yet.

Sir Reginald Osis was another worry. He had only just turned up yesterday, bringing with him a half-dozen horses, as Harriet had requested. Unfortunately, it seemed that the knight had misinterpreted Harriet's instructions. She had of course wanted living horses with docile temperaments, suitable for beginners' horse treks. The horses Reginald had selected were zombie warhorses, dug up from an ancient battlefield. She was also worried that Reginald himself seemed unable to keep his head balanced on his neck for any length of time. She pointed out that it would not do to have his head fall off in front of the human guests, but Reginald had laughed off her concerns, saying he'd sort everything out. She watched him now as he chuckled merrily, sharing anecdotes with Boo, Sue and Lou, who hung on his every word. She wondered if he had been drinking again.

It was good to see that most of the staff members seemed to be getting on well with each other. During their many long years living at the castle, the residents had, by choice, kept to themselves. Each wanted simply to retreat from society and social contact, hiding away in his or her own room, emerging only for occasional dinners together, and the odd poker match the boys had. But maybe this desire for isolation had gone on too long. After the stress of dealing with Eleanor, Hugo and Jim, and now that they had a common goal to be working towards, the residents had started to develop friendships. It was good to see. The newcomers Swizelsticks and Reginald had been accepted well too. Edgar the hunchback seemed pleasant enough, but never left the professor's side. As for the professor, he had thrown himself into his work, which Harriet couldn't complain about, although he did have one heck of a superiority complex. There was also something going on between him and Norm. Twice, Harriet had heard the professor refer to Norm as "the creature," once as "the thing," and once as "the failure." Luckily Norm had not been around at the time. In fact, Norm seemed to be completely avoiding the professor. When she had a moment, Harriet would have to get to the bottom of the problem.

And then there was Violetta. In some ways Violetta was perfect. She was efficient and thorough, helping Harriet with her orders and odd jobs. She had also designed beautiful guest information cards, and had hand-lettered all of the menus with calligraphy. She was every bit as hard-working as Viktor had said she'd be. But she was also cold, and aloof, looking down her aristocratic nose at all of the other residents. Even her reunion with Viktor, after three hundred years apart, had been frosty. She had nodded, and said simply, "Viktor." Viktor had nodded, and said, "Violetta," and that had been that. Harriet shrugged. Vampires.

The song ended, and there was a small cough. Viktor had taken the floor. "Friends, old and new," he said. "It was Harriet who had the idea for this venture – what she called 'a last resort' – and for this I thank her. It has been a tumultuous few weeks, but tomorrow, when the first guests arrive, all our hard work will be rewarded. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to raise your glasses to the success of Romanoff Resort."

Harriet raised her glass. "To Romanoff Resort."

# Chapter Thirteen

"There's your mail," Lisa's brother Craig said as he plopped two envelopes in front of her. Lisa grunted and continued to eat her cornflakes, shovelling them in without tasting them. She picked up the envelopes listlessly, and examined the fronts. One was addressed to her, from her bank. The other was addressed to The Living History Company. She'd been excited at first and then disappointed by the few letters her advertisement had generated. Each time she had hoped for a booking for her exclusive guided history tours, or even an enquiry, but the letters had all been from chancers, wanting her to buy insurance, or advertising, or begging her for a job. Her email inbox had been equally devoid of bookings.

The address on this latest envelope was hand-written, in a very old-fashioned script. She used the end of her cereal spoon to open the letter, dripping milk onto the tablecloth. Her mother, passing through the dining room, tutted. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed?"

Lisa ignored her. Well, the letter wasn't a booking, but it was interesting. An invitation from a fancy resort in Eastern Europe – located in a medieval castle, no less – all expenses paid, bar transport. The sender suggested that she and two staff members might wish to evaluate the castle for use with future tour bookings. Lisa snorted. It did look the sort of place she would love to take clients, if she had any, but she doubted that would ever happen. It wouldn't be fair to the resort take advantage of the offer. Still, it would be nice to get away from the house for a while. And presumably the resort could afford to host her, otherwise they wouldn't have sent the invitation. She wouldn't be obliged to them, would she?

Unable to decide, Lisa was still staring at the letter when her mother stuck her head back round the door and said, "You know, if you made a bit of an effort with makeup, you might find a decent guy your own age."

Gritting her teeth, Lisa descended to her office and began looking online for cheap flights to Eastern Europe.

#

Violetta had not fed properly for several weeks – not since she had gorged on the blood of young Giovanni before they had left Italy – or had it been Allessandro, or Emilio? She shrugged. It didn't matter – Italian youths were interchangeable. Since being at the castle, she had had access to blood, certainly. Viktor had made his store of sheep's blood available to her, but as a human she had hated the taste of mutton, and sheep's blood carried a similar oily tang that she despised. Still, to sustain herself she had consumed it once, warmed on a pot on the stove and served up in a china mug. There had been little alternative. Viktor had made it quite clear that hunting visits to the village were off-limits. As if she was still an amateur vampire! As if she didn't already know that you don't go hunting in your own back yard. As for feasting off the residents at the castle – well, she'd rather drink the sheep's blood. The monster, the ghosts, the zombies, the skeleton and the mummy didn't have any blood to offer anyway. The aquaman's blood would no doubt taste like fish, and the werewolf's like dog. Ug. There was no way she would drink from the hideous old crone, the professor, the hunchback or the wizard. That left only the gorgon. Callie certainly smelt delicious, but anyone who shared her circulatory system with a dense tangle of snakes probably had venomous blood. Besides, she had to work with these people, for a little while longer at least. She had too much pride to ask their permission to feed, and it would be unacceptable to be caught enthralling one of them.

The human guests on the other hand, could turn out to be a veritable smorgasbord. As she sat in the chugging ferry, ignoring the mutterings of Brineheart and Edgar, she ran her eyes down the list of guests, licking her lips. Violetta had been quite surprised this morning when Harriet had asked her to go and collect the guests, claiming that she couldn't go herself, as there was a personal matter to attend to. Violetta wondered if she had a case of fleas or ticks. She had certainly been scratching and squirming uncomfortably. Violetta had been happy enough to agree to the task. She was looking forward to meeting the guests. One group in particular sounded promising – a historian and two students. University students were always especially tasty. The only problem was the weather. The day had dawned sunny and bright, so she had been forced to put on the SPF 80 sunscreen and don cotton gloves, sunglasses and a floppy hat. Still, she was used to it. It beat skulking in the shadows like Viktor.

The ferry came alongside the wharf, and there everyone was, chatting socially while patiently waiting for their ride. Violetta turned to see if Brineheart was still properly clothed, and noted that Edgar was already dealing with him, making sure the bright yellow sou'wester raincoat was fully buttoned up and the hat pulled down low to mask his zombie-ish countenance. Satisfied, she quickly bit down on her wrist, drew blood, drank down a couple of swallows, and felt refreshed.

#

There was something unsettling about the way the woman moved. Most women connected with the hospitality industry, in Lisa's experience, were blonde and bubbly, and they had a skip to their step. This woman was pale skinned, dark haired and sleek. She prowled. The guests had been told that a woman would come to meet them, and Lisa, her brother Craig and his friend Hayden had earlier placed a bet about what the name of their hostess would be. Craig had opted for 'Sharon,' Hayden for 'Kylie,' and Lisa had chosen 'Beryl'. This woman was definitely not a Sharon, Kylie or Beryl. The polite but stilted conversation that had sprung up amongst their fellow guests died away as she approached, and all eyes turned to her. She smiled, exposing neat white teeth, with pointed canines. The warmth implied by the smile, Lisa noticed, did not extend to her almond-shaped eyes. "My name is Violetta Romanoff," she said, "and it is my pleasure to welcome you to my ancestral home, Castle Romanoff, the best boutique resort in all of Eastern Europe."

"We'll be the judge of that, lassie," a brash voice with a heavy Northern accent called out. Lisa knew it to be the voice of a big middle-aged man called Albert Fisher, who had already loudly introduced himself and his noxious family. His horsey wife Penny tittered at this display of wit, and his beefy son, Christopher, sniggered unpleasantly. Their little girl, not actually introduced by Albert, looked at her shoes. While others turned to stare at Albert Fisher, Lisa kept her gaze glued to Violetta Romanoff, and saw a momentary flash of anger in her eyes.

"Of course," she demurred. "Now, if you will make your way on board the ferry, we'll get underway. I just need to check you all in as you go." She held up a clipboard. "Mr. Gore will assist you with your luggage if you require help." At this, a hunchbacked man, about half Lisa's own height, appeared at the door of the ship and scuttled across the gangplank. He wore an immaculate red uniform jacket which reached all the way to the ground, and had gold epaulettes on the shoulders. His head was crowned with a small pillbox hat, which, Lisa was ashamed to think, made him look like an organ-grinder's monkey. Lisa also noticed that his feet were wedged into uncomfortable-looking tiny winkle-picker shoes. She wondered how such a stunted, awkwardly-dressed man would be able to manage everyone's luggage. Suddenly the man spotted Lisa staring at him, and his face split into a grin that actually went from ear to ear. Then he winked. Lisa looked away, blushing. Craig let out a low wolf-whistle and waggled his eyebrows at his older sister. "Looks like you've got an admirer."

Most of the group milled awkwardly on the spot, by unspoken mutual consent allowing a pair of old ladies to go first. The old ladies began to shuffle forward, but the Fisher family pushed ahead, Christopher reaching Violetta first, then Albert carrying a bag from which two oversize fishing rods emerged. Penny followed, dragging her young daughter behind. Violetta frowned, then, overlooking Christopher and Albert Fisher, stepped to one side, and addressed the old ladies. "You must be Mrs Meeks and Mrs Trellis, of the Welsh Ladies' Institute? Welcome aboard."

"Hey!" protested Christopher and Albert Fisher, simultaneously. Violetta ignored them, waiting while the old ladies, the hunchback and their luggage made their way precariously across the gangway, then turned to look at Albert, one eyebrow raised. "Fisher family," he snapped angrily, simultaneously shooing the hunchback away from his bags, as he might a stray dog. Violetta nodded dismissively and made a ticking motion on the clipboard. The Fisher family boarded, its menfolk muttering darkly. Next, a group of women in their late thirties or early forties came forward – giggly, blonde and wearing hoop earrings. They introduced themselves as Della, from Travel Associates, Doreen from World of Travel, and Beryl from Big Planet Travel. Doreen then looked behind her and beckoned to a sullen faced teenage girl who reluctantly shambled over. She wore a purple hoody top which had the word 'Princess' emblazoned across the chest. She also had bright blue nail-polish on, and too much makeup. "This is my daughter, Peaches," Doreen said. Lisa saw again a flash of anger in Violetta's eyes as the four moved onto the boat, the bellhop dragging their wheeled suitcases behind him, and wondered why such a hostile woman was working in hospitality.

A pair of silver-haired men came next, similarly dressed in smartly-tailored sweaters and crisply-seamed blue jeans, their costly brand-name baggage dominated by golf-clubs. Dan and Mike, they announced, flashing expensive dentistry at Violetta as she looked at them appraisingly and marked them present. A married couple, calling themselves Rachel and Philip, were the next to approach Violetta. Lisa hadn't paid them much attention, since they had kept quietly to themselves. They nodded at the hunchback as he took their bags, and followed him on board. Finally, a single man stepped forward, and gave his name as Ken Trepid. He had flowing hair and a chiselled jaw. He looked like an ad for something... hiking boots, maybe, or men's cologne. No – Lisa snapped her fingers – she had it! The man looked like the drawing on the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel. Ick. Lisa noticed Violetta give the man a calculating look. The bellhop offered to take the man's cases, but he refused.

Now Lisa shepherded her group forward. Violetta looked at them with a mixture of disbelief, disappointment and distaste clearly written all over her face. "Are you the history group?" she snapped.

Lisa was a little taken aback. "Well, yes..."

Violetta scowled. "I wasn't expecting children. I thought three people were coming to represent the Living History Company – assessing the suitability of our accommodation for use by your tour clients."

"Oh, I, er..." Lisa replied, flustered and at a loss for words. Get a grip, she told herself. You're a professional. She drew a deep breath. "I am the owner of the Living History Company," she said. "This is my brother and his friend..."

Their ungracious hostess cut her off. "Never mind." Then Violetta turned on her heel and marched towards the boat, snapping "Do come along."

Lisa felt a hand tugging at the straps on her bag, and looked down to see the bellhop taking it from her. Lisa released her hold, as the man winked again, rolled his eyes dramatically, tapped his temple and said, "Pleathe don't mind Mith Romanoff. She'ths got bat-ths in the belfry."

From the village wharf, the castle simply looked like a white box perched on rocks and surrounded by green hills. As the ferry chugged closer, however, Lisa began to make out details, and she felt her excitement mounting. The centre of the castle projected forward, presenting a massive arched door, flanked by two towers in which stained glass windows gleamed. Behind this central portion, two wings sprouted to the sides, also flanked by towers. Lisa hoped their bedroom would be in one of the towers. She longed to walk the ramparts. "Oh!" said Hayden, standing at the rail next to Lisa. "It's got those... battlement thingies..." He drew his finger in the air – across, down, across, up – indicating the square shapes that made up the edge of the ramparts.

"Merlons and crenels," Lisa said. "The merlons are the bits that stick up. Archers used to hide behind them, leap out to fire through the gap, or crenel, and then duck back behind the merlon."

"Nerd!" Craig said, pretending to cough into his hand.

#

The staff was gathered in what Harriet was calling "the War Room." It was a small chamber around the corner from the kitchen, which had originally been used as a dining room for the castle's servants. This was the scene of Harriet's final inspection and pep-talk. There were only four absentees. Skully was preparing for dinner – and in any case, would never be seen by a guest, if all went according to plan. Violetta and Edgar were busy settling guests into their seats in the dining hall. And Viktor... well, Viktor was just absent. No excuse given, nor required.

In truth, Harriet was glad to be away from Violetta for a while. They had been required to work closely together during the weeks leading up to today, placing orders, sending out invitations and ensuring everything was just so. Harriet found Viktor's cousin efficient, but cold. There was no small-talk, no room for a friendly smile or a kind word. Just a snooty silence, or, worse a self-satisfied smirk. Checking in only a few minutes ago to say that all guests had arrived, Violetta had sniffed the air, detected the faint odour of flea powder on Harriet, and sneered. Reminded now of the voracious little insects, Harriet scratched behind her ear, then shook herself, and focussed on the job in hand.

With a critical eye, Harriet marched up and down, a sergeant major inspecting her troops, and found that most of them passed muster. Harriet gave Blake a curt nod of approval. He had required the most disguising, and yet the solution had been obvious. He was dressed in a full-length wetsuit, with booties jammed over his webbed-feet, and mittens over his webbed-hands. A hood covered his head and neck, surreptitious slits allowing his gills to function through the thick rubber, and a mask obscured his face, leaving only his perfect even white teeth displaying their customary grin.

Ankh had also taken some work. He wore a sharp tan suit, with a Nehru collar. Over this was a physician's white coat. His bandaged hands were covered in rubber gloves. Unfortunately, little could be done to disguise his bandaged head. Instead of a cover, there would be a cover story. As far as the guests would know, Ankh was recovering from extensive plastic surgery following an accident.

Norm stood next to the doctor, hands hanging loosely at his sides. Luckily, Norm now had a left hand and a right hand. Harriet had insisted that a fitness instructor with two left hands was something that no guest would overlook. Harriet and Viktor racked their brains for a solution before Norm grudging suggested that the Professor could fix him. When Harriet had approached the Professor, the man had grumbled and complained, muttering, "It'll be throwing good parts after bad," but he did the job. Harriet was actually a little alarmed by the speed of the process – disturbingly, the Professor already had a spare right hand on hand, so to speak, and so the surgery went ahead straight away – he and Norm not once condescending to look at each other. Of course hands weren't the only Norm-issue that needed resolving. His oversize track suit had been specially ordered from a sporting goods store in Germany, but the sleeves and pant legs only just stretched to the ends of his long limbs. Sweatbands covered the scars where his hands had been stitched onto his arms, and where his scalp joined his forehead. Finally, a thin layer of loose powder, over a thick layer of pancake makeup, took the edge off his green hue and made him look almost acceptably human. Under Harriet's scrutiny, he reached up a hand to check his skin, but this was swatted down by Callie, who did not want to see her masterpiece ruined.

"No, Norm," the gorgon insisted. "You mustn't touch it!" Callie was looking great, of course. She had initially pouted when Harriet asked her not to wear a toga, but a raised eyebrow from Viktor had sent her scampering off to her room, and within the hour her best golden toga had been converted to a stylish and very modern two-piece suit. Over this she wore a white smock, the pockets filled with scissors, nail-files and other tools of the trade. The snakes had been given a triple treatment – the meat they had been given for dinner had been laced with tranquilisers, then they had been bound up in ribbons, and finally, tucked up under a turban. She hadn't put beads over their heads this time, however. Not since she had been unable to stop Big Jim from shooting Harriet.

The zombie band members were all covered in baggy clothes, hats and makeup, and as long as they stayed on the stage, which was suspended like a balcony high above the dancefloor, they would pass. Harriet smiled and moved on.

As they were all more or less human, Harriet merely nodded at Swizelsticks, the Professor and Barbara. Swizelsticks was very well turned out, with a sharp bow tie, rainbow-hued waistcoat and twinkling earring. The other two were dressed somewhat eccentrically by most people's standards, particularly the old witch, who carried assorted talismans hanging on chains about her person, but this was the least of Harriet's concerns. Boo, Sue and Lou also received nods, and even a smile of appreciation. In the last few days, the three old ladies had already proved themselves valuable members of the team, using their telekinetic powers to completely clean and tidy the castle from dungeons to turrets. The ghosts would remain invisible to the guests, of course, and Harriet simply reminded them not to cause objects to float about by themselves in front of people.

Finally, Harriet stopped in front of the riding instructor. Sir Osis gave her a leery grin, and she took an involuntary step backwards. There was the ghost of an unpleasant fragrance emanating from the spectre – a combination of stale liquor and horse manure. Harriet grimaced. How she wished she could have fired this drunken wretch. From the moment he had turned up, Harriet had known he would be trouble, what with the six zombie chargers he had brought instead of buying decent horses. It wasn't as if they really needed a riding instructor, after all. He wouldn't be missed. However, when she had raised the subject of a dismissal with Viktor, he had smiled maddeningly and refused. He had never turned away a soul in need of refuge, he had said, and so Sir Osis was welcome to stay as long as he wished. Harriet had then drew Viktor's attention (as if it needed pointing out) to the fact that their new employee's physical state was going to prove somewhat of a problem, what with his head not being attached to his body. Infuriatingly, Viktor had looked at Harriet, and said, "I know you can make it work, Harriet. I have complete faith in you." Really, the man was too much!

Now Harriet looked at Sir Osis closely. The riding instructor was doing pretty well at holding physical form. Wearing black clothes helped, as he didn't have to concentrate on producing colours. He was hovering very slightly above the floor, but this was undetectable. Harriet knew he was doing it, because unlike Boo, Sue and Lou, Sir Osis lacked the ability to interact with physical objects. It was something to do with being ripped away from the material world by a violent death. No telekinetic powers for him, no way even of opening a door or lying on a bed. He would have to remember to hover above chairs too, so that guests didn't witness him sinking through the seat. Perfectly easy, if he could be kept sober. Otherwise...

Harriet shrugged and turned her attention to the problem of his past decapitation. Grimacing, she instructed Sir Osis to shake his severed head. It wobbled a bit, but stayed attached. This had taken some serious thinking. In the end, they had burned a quantity of medical thread to ash, and entirely melted a needle, instructing Sir Osis to catch the essence of each object as it was obliterated. This he did, and then Lou had stitched the head back onto the neck, using the ghostly equipment. In order to stabilise the now-attached but still-floppy head, they had then set fire to a foam neck brace – the kind whip-lash victims use. However, the acrid smell of the burning foam rubber had made everyone feel ill, and besides, Viktor pointed out, who would want to take riding lessons from a seemingly injured instructor? So, instead, they had unravelled a thick knitted scarf, and Sir Osis had again captured the essence of the object as it ceased to exist. He wound the ghost scarf tightly around his neck, and now looked acceptable, if unsavoury.

Harriet had finished her inspection. She clapped her hands together, summoning up some fake enthusiasm to mask her deep-seated feeling of impending doom. "Alright team. Let's go meet the guests!"

# Chapter Fourteen

Lisa had never seen a pair of old ladies move so quickly. "Blake Lagoon!" they had exclaimed, squealing in delight like a couple of schoolgirls, as soon as the name of the final staff member was divulged. Then they were up, out of their seats and tottering across the dance-floor, the taller of the two (Mrs Meeks was it, or Mrs Trellis?) elbowing the shorter out of the way in order get to the hapless swimming instructor a few seconds ahead of her friend. Now they stood in front of him, fawning and cooing. Lisa heard one of them say, "Oh, Mr. Lagoon, you're just as handsome today as ever you were in your films!" Lisa wondered how they could tell. The man was covered from head to toe in a wetsuit, which seemed an odd thing to wear to a staff introduction session, and the only visible part of him was a dazzling one-hundred watt smile. Maybe it was this that had got the ladies so worked up. However, confronted this way with their gushing adoration, the intensity of the old film star's smile was dimming.

The small, stocky woman who was in charge gently disengaged the two women as they clung to Blake's arms, and led them back to their seats, explaining that there would be plenty of time to all get to know each other over the next week.

"I don't want to keep you from your rooms any longer," Harriet Fullmoon said to her guests. "You will no doubt want to freshen up after your long trip here. All of your bags have been placed in your rooms by Mr. Gore, and you should by now have received your keys from Miss Romanoff. Tonight, there will be a welcome party with drinks in this room, and then dinner and dancing to our resident band, when you will get to meet your host, Count Viktor Romanoff. In the meantime, you might wish to take a walk around the grounds, or simply relax in your rooms and perhaps plan your activities for tomorrow. We all hope that you enjoy your stay here at Castle Romanoff Resort, and consider it your home away from home."

Lisa joined in the smattering of applause that followed this, and then stood along with everyone else, amid the scraping of chair-legs and murmur of people organising themselves. Albert Fisher's voice carried above the others. "I doubt he's a real Count," Lisa heard him say. The guests began to file out of the opulent ballroom, into the hallway, and up the grand sweep of the main stairs in search of their bedrooms. Craig and Hayden ran ahead to check out their bedroom. Lisa lagged behind. Something about the meeting she had just witnessed bothered her. Reluctantly, she followed the last guest out – Ken Trepid, still inexplicably toting his cases – then turned back. The door remained open a crack, and Lisa now peered through it. The staff, who had been standing rigidly to attention as they were introduced, were now visibly relaxing, letting themselves slump, exhaling great sighs of relief, clapping each other on the back – all as if they had just survived some sort of ordeal.

Suddenly Lisa heard a small cough. She spun around. A gorgeous, elegantly dressed man, with jet black hair and a thin moustache was regarding her with a steely gaze, one slender eyebrow raised. Lisa knew at once who this must be. "Oh, I... um..." she said, embarrassed at being caught snooping. But Craig saved her.

"There you are," he called from the landing. "Come up and see the room!" Relieved, Lisa tore herself away from the Count. She imagined she could feel those dark eyes boring into her back as she sprung up the stairs two at a time.

By the time she got to their room, Craig and Hayden had apparently settled in. Craig seemed to be trying to remove a helmet from a medieval suit of armour standing in the corner. He'd succeeded in opening the visor, but it seemed that the helmet was permanently attached to the stand.

"I don't think you should do that," Lisa said. "It's probably worth heaps of money, and you'll get into trouble."

Craig shrugged. "Okay," he said, and instead began to work at removing the sword from the armour's closed gauntlet hand. Lisa sighed.

Hayden was sitting on a single bed near the door, reading the pamphlet they had been given. He looked up at Lisa. "I've got this bed, if that's okay, and Craig has the one next to the bathroom. Yours is by the window."

Lisa picked up her bag from the centre of the room and carried it over to the bed, then stood on tiptoes to look out the window. It wasn't much of a window – in fact it was merely a slit between two of the massive stones that made up the castle's walls. Centuries ago, it would have been covered by a tapestry to keep out drafts, but now it held a plexi-glass panel. Through this, Lisa could see formal gardens of flowers, a hedge-maze, greenhouses, beehives, assorted outbuildings and rolling green hills beyond, studded with sheep. Their room was at the back of the castle, and she thought she should have been able to see out the right hand side to the lake, but the window was too narrow for that. Suddenly, she realised that the window was too narrow to let in much light. She looked up at the ceiling, and found the source of illumination – a chandelier, filled with hundreds of lit candles. Lisa was astonished. Lighting every room with candles must cost a fortune. And wasn't it a huge fire-risk?

"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Hayden asked Craig, still studying the pamphlet. "This says we can go horse-riding, fishing, swimming or snorkelling, play golf, learn to fence or work out in the gym. Or maybe you should have a beauty treatment," he joked.

"Horse-riding sounds good," Craig replied, still working on the gauntlet's finger hinges. "But I suppose you're going to make us learn something while we're here," he added turning to his big sister.

"I was planning to organise a history lecture for us," Lisa admitted, "I was going to try to get the Count to tell us about Mortavia and the castle." But thinking about the Count's penetrating black eyes, Lisa wasn't so sure. She shivered.

"Aha!" Craig said, finally releasing the sword with a huge clatter.

#

Amy Fisher sat quietly on the edge of her bed, hugging her doll and regarding her parents with big round eyes. "I'm just saying," Albert bellowed, "that you would expect there would be a room for us and an adjoining one for the kiddies, that's all. It seems a bit off, putting us all in the same room."

"Well," his wife said quietly, "we can't really complain, it is free after all."

Albert snorted. "Hmmf. Free? Free? I don't think. Nothing's free in this world, my lass. Everyone wants something, and these Romanoffs only invited us so that the Travel Network will do a feature on them, what? Only they didn't bargain on a tough nut like Albert Fisher. I won't have my arm twisted so easily, and I won't be dictated to by foreigners." He threw open his suitcase and began to toss clothes onto the floor. "Now, where'd I put my shaver?"

The toilet flushed, and Christopher emerged from the bathroom carrying a pamphlet outlining the castle's facilities. He crumpled it up and shot it towards the wastebasket. It bounced off the rim, and landed on the wooden floor. "This place sucks," he said, kicking the corner of his bed. "There's nothing to do."

"That's as maybe," said Albert, changing his tune, "but it's free. I'm not made of money you know. We can't go skiing every holiday."

"There's lots to do," Penny said, picking up the crumpled pamphlet and smoothing it out. We can go horse-riding, or fishing. Oh, and remember, there's a babysitter too, so we don't have to worry about Amy."

Both Christopher and Albert looked over at Amy as if they had forgotten she existed. "Well, that's one good thing," Albert said.

#

"Wasn't he handsome?" Emily Trellis wheezed breathlessly. She was peering at herself in a large gilt-framed mirror, holding an old-fashioned blue floral skirted bathing suit up against her scrawny body.

"Oh yes!" Hortense Meeks replied, her rheumy eyes alight. "Simply marvellous!" She tucked her wispy grey hair up under a pink bathing cap and jostled her friend out of the way of the mirror so she could examine the effect.

"That voice, so heavenly," Emily cooed, doing a twirl. "I'd know it anywhere."

"And that smile!" Hortense effused. "Simply stunning."

Emily hesitated. She didn't want to let her best friend know how badly her sight was failing her. "He... um... still had such lustrous bronzed skin, didn't he?" she guessed.

"Oh...um...yes," Hortense agreed. In truth, she couldn't see too well these days. She had actually thought what little of Blake's skin she was able to view up close had been bluish, but that couldn't be right, could it? But there was no need to let Emily know what she had thought. "Wonderfully bronzed," she confirmed.

"No need to ask what we're doing tomorrow?" Emily said.

The two old ladies looked at each other. "Snorkelling!" they both shouted at once, then collapsed in a fit of giggles.

#

The man who had introduced himself as Ken Trepid, travel journalist and explorer extraordinaire, locked the door to his room, slid his brand new hard-sided suitcase under the wardrobe, and then put his metal attaché case on top of the bed. Any reader of Ken Trepid's books would be surprised at seeing this luggage. Where was the shabby rucksack that had earned its scars and war wounds in the jungles of South America and deserts of Africa? Where was the tattered day pack that had accompanied him to the top of the highest temple in the Himalayas, and to the bottom of the deepest cave in New Zealand?

Several objects were nestled in moulded foam packing within the attaché case. The man ran his hands almost lovingly over them. The first things he removed were an electro-magnetic field detector and an infra-red thermometer. These he switched on, then held in either hand and ran them all around the bedroom and bathroom. There were some readings associated with the walls, particularly behind the shower cabinet, but he assumed these to be electrical in nature – cables and such-like. Satisfied that the room itself was clean, he put down the two meters and picked up a large jar containing iron filings. He had ground the iron himself, out of nails extracted from a graveyard under a full moon. Well, you couldn't be too careful in his line of work. He unscrewed the lid and then proceeded to spread the filings out, in an unbroken line, all the way around the perimeter of the bedroom and bathroom. Once this was complete, he checked that his pockets were still full of salt, and that his obsidian necklace, bracelets, anklets and belt were in place. Then he turned on the meters again. The room was still clean. Satisfied, the man reached up into his tousled mass of golden locks, hair which would have been so familiar to fans of Ken Trepid's travel books, seen in photos peeking out from under a Papua New Guinean headdress, or being chewed by lion cubs on a Kenyan game reserve. The man pulled off the curly wig, and deposited it gently onto a chest of drawers. Only then did he allow himself to relax.

#

"Well, isn't this lovely!" Doreen gushed as she led the way into their shared bedroom. Her daughter Peaches grunted. "Just look at these old stone walls. Imagine what they must have witnessed!"

"Boring people doing boring things I expect," Peaches mumbled.

Doreen sighed. "You know, if you have already determined that you're not going to enjoy this holiday, then you won't." She looked sideways at Peaches, expecting another sarcastic response, but Peaches merely grunted again, and Doreen decided not to push it. She was here to enjoy herself, and down a few free cocktails. What did she care if Peaches wanted to be a misery-guts? Sprawled on one of the beds, Peaches was fiddling with her MP3 player. She'd barely removed the thing since England.

"Pants!" Peaches said, her frown deeper than usual.

"What?"

"Oh, one of my earbuds has been cutting in and out, and now it's gone completely. I'm going to have to listen in mono now."

"You could try getting it repaired," Doreen suggested.

"What, here? In the arse-end-of-nowhere?"

Doreen pursed her lips. She wished her ex-husband would take Peaches more often. "Yes, here. Weren't you listening at the staff introductions just now? No, I suppose you weren't. Well, they've got a sort of handyman person, called the Professor, and he's supposed to be really good at fixing electrical and mechanical stuff."

Peaches looked dubious. "Never mind," she said, unzipping her bag and pulling out a magazine. She flipped over onto her tummy to read it – or rather, flick through it, looking at the pictures. Doreen was still talking. Peaches cranked up the volume on her MP3 player to try to drown her out. The one working earbud cracked sharply several times, then cut in and out twice, then died completely. "Pants!" Peaches said again.

#

The ghostly sisters weren't supposed to enter the rooms while guests were inside, but Boudica just couldn't help herself. In life, she'd always been interested in other people. There was nothing she had liked more than snooping about other people's homes when she had called upon them for a charity subscription, or eavesdropping on conversations at the local café, or gossiping with other spinsters over a cup of tea after church. Death had curtailed all of that, trapped as she was in the house she and her sisters had died in, until that whippersnapper of a priest had exorcised them. Being free, and a ghost should have been wonderful. Boo should have enjoyed the opportunity to spy on whoever she wanted, whenever she chose. Her sisters, however, never felt settled in the ghostly realm. Although they initially delighted in haunting people, they missed the cosy familiarity of their old house, and found the living world too fast paced. They were terrified of cars, and trains, and aeroplanes, (one of which had flown right through Louise in 1962). And so, they had chosen to settle here at the castle, a sanctuary where they felt at home. Boudica couldn't spy in secrecy on the castle residents, of course, since supernatural beings could almost always detect each other. Besides, it didn't feel right. So, for many years, her natural curiosity had been thwarted. Now, however, there were new people in the castle, people who wouldn't be able to tell she was there. It wouldn't hurt, would it, to just pop in and see what people were up to?

So Boo had spent a happy afternoon darting from room to room. Now, however, she lingered in one particular room. It belonged to the married couple, Phil and Rachel, and Phil was in the process of lighting up a cigarette.

"You're not supposed to, you know," his wife admonished, as she headed for the bathroom. "Health and safety regulations. No smoking anywhere inside."

"It's just one," he replied. "Besides, who's going to know?"

Me, Boo thought. And I can't abide smoking. Filthy, disgusting habit! As a young woman, Boudica had been very popular with gentleman suitors. Everyone felt sure Boo would marry and settle down. However, each time Boo thought she might have found Mr. Right, he would light a gasper and her regard for him would drift away like smoke in the wind. In her opinion, tobacco was to blame for the loneliness she had felt for most of her life.

Her temper flaring at the sight of this man's forbidden cigarette, she flew down and hovered above his shoulder as he struck a match. Boo blew the flame out smartly. "Huh," Phil said, and lit another. Again, Boo extinguished it. "Must be a draft," he muttered to himself. He cupped his hand around next match, in such a way that Boo could not blow on it. Instead, she reached through his hand and pinched out the flame. As her ghostly hand passed through his, Phil felt like he was being pricked by a million tiny shards of ice. "Ow," he said, and dropped the match. Shaking his hand, he pulled out another match. He tried again, and again, replacing the matches with a lighter, but to no avail. Still, he didn't give up. Boo couldn't believe he wasn't getting the message. Finally, she grabbed the unlit cigarette from between his lips, held it out in front of her and tore it into little pieces, then hissed "We said, no smoking!" into Phil's ear.

Phil goggled in disbelief. "Who's there?" he said.

"Sorry honey?" his wife called from the bathroom. "Did you say something?"

"Uh, no," Phil called back. He was walking forward now, whipping his hands through the air where he had just seem his cigarette spontaneously fly up and tear itself to shreds. Boo giggled as she dodged his hands. On hearing the giggle, Phil froze.

After a moment, he called out to his wife, "Sweetheart, can you bring me out a cold wet flannel? I'm going to have a lie down."

Rachel came out of the bathroom to find him lying on their bed, sweating. She plopped the flannel on his forehead, then noticed the cigarette lying broken on the ground. "Oh, aren't you going to have a smoke after all?"

"No," Phil replied, with a shudder. "I don't think I'm ever going to smoke again!"

"Well, good," said Rachel. Boo flew up and out of the room, her face stretched into a smirk of satisfaction.

#

Doreen had left her sulky daughter, and encouraged Della to go for a walk around the grounds, but Beryl stayed in. She flung herself onto her massive four poster bed and snuggled contentedly into the luxurious duvet. This was her reason for becoming a travel agent. Oh, sure, at her job interview she had made up something about wanting to help people to discover other countries and broaden their minds, and become more tolerant of each other, ultimately leading to world peace. She suspected her interviewer knew this was a lie, but he had nodded sagely, said, "Oh, me too!" and then he had told her about the perks. Ah, the fabulous perks! So far in her five years in the travel industry, Beryl had been on four junkets. Her first was a tropical island paradise – a heady mix of sand, sun and surf, not to mention cocktails in the pool bar. It was while perched on a bamboo barstool at Tricky Ricky's Sticky-Tiki Lounge that Beryl had met Della and Doreen, each there representing competing travel agencies. Finding so much in common, the three had become firm friends. They had stuck cocktail umbrellas into their hair, and danced to throbbing music in sarongs and bare feet long into the night. Since then, they had contacted each other anytime a travel freebie was offered. It was Della who had seen this advertisement – a week of resort-style luxury in an ancient castle, owned by a real count! They had booked immediately – it was just a pity that Doreen had to bring her daughter. Beryl had joked with the others that the count was probably a withered old crusty with thick glasses and a Zimmer frame. Well, they would find out tonight.

Beryl sat up on the bed and pulled her handbag to her, opening the zip, and rummaging inside for the castle's pamphlet. She smoothed out the crumpled paper and read the details yet again. Well, the room was certainly as described, beautifully appointed, with real antiques. Ah, here we are, she thought. "Enjoy a relaxing spa in the comfort of your room with state-of-the-art massaging shower heads. A touch of luxury." That sounded divine. Beryl checked that the door was unlocked, so that her roommates could get in when they returned. Then she slipped out of her clothes and into a towel. She padded softly into the bathroom, opened the shower door and turned on the water.

Under the torrent of hot water, Beryl felt the stresses of work begin to wash away. She breathed in the hot steam and let herself relax. There was a button on the wall of the shower marked "Massage." With a little sigh of bliss, Beryl pushed the button. Behind the wall of the shower, levers tripped, cogs turned, magnets rotated, and a little spark of electricity re-animated long-dead tissue. A panel slid jerkily to one side, and an avocado green arm emerged. Its hand landed heavily on one of Beryl's naked shoulders and began to knead and pummel the muscles it found there. Beryl screamed and jumped back, spinning to confront her attacker. The arm, deprived of its client, began to grope blindly about the shower cabinet. Beryl screamed again as the hideous fingertips brushed against her cheek, and bolted. Naked and dripping, she shot out of the bathroom and across her bedroom, flinging open the door and plunging hysterically into the corridor. As she dashed through the hallway, her cries of alarm brought other guests to their doors. Most of the guests were bemused to see a streak of pink flesh rocketing by.

"Must've seen a mouse in her room, silly girlie," Mr. Fisher remarked to his wife. Beryl hurtled down the main staircase and came to a halt in the foyer, crashing into Norm. Norm stared at her, jaw slack, trying to work out what he was seeing. Beryl stared back at him, trying control her panic. Harriet came bustling out of the reception office at that moment.

"What on Earth...?" she began, then seeing Beryl's state of undress, said sharply, "Norm! Give this young lady your jacket!"

Big mistake. Norm shook himself and unzipped the oversize jacket of his track suit, offering it to Beryl, who slipped it on gratefully, then goggled. Although the physical trainer's face and hands were an acceptable skin colour, his arms were the same revolting shade of green as the...thing...that attacked her in the shower. Beryl let out a wretched sob, and flung herself at Harriet, burying her face in the stocky woman's shoulder. Harriet stroked her tangled wet hair, murmuring "There, there," and making furious faces at Norm. "Go and hide," she mouthed silently. After a few moments, Norm nodded slowly, and shuffled off.

"His...arms!" Beryl snuffled.

"Mmm," Harriet agreed. "They were rather green, weren't they? I...um..." She wracked her brain. "Um... I believe Norm has been clearing algae out of our goldfish pond."

"But he...I mean...his arms...his arm...he was in my shower!"

Harriet frowned. What was this woman talking about? "Your shower?"

"My shower!" Beryl wailed.

Confused and concerned, Harriet steered the distraught guest into an office behind the reception desk, and made her a cup of sweet milky tea. "There," she said. "You'll be quite safe here while I go and investigate." Wide-eyed, Beryl nodded and sipped her soothing drink.

Harriet found the door to Beryl's room wide open. Cautiously, she entered. The bathroom door was open too, clouds of steam billowing out, accompanied by the sound of running water. Gingerly, she stepped into the offending room. In the shower, a muscular green arm was protruding from a hole in the wall, bent at the elbow and drumming its fingers against the wall, evidently bored.

"Oh for goodness sake," Harriet muttered. She took off her tweed jacket, rolled up the sleeve of her sensible blouse, and reached into the shower. The arm, detecting the tension in Harriet's muscles, tried to massage her, but Harriet slapped it impatiently away, and depressed the massage button. The arm went limp, and with a whir and a whine, retracted into the wall. The white-tiled panel slid into place, and the shower once more looked harmless and inviting.

Harriet sighed. She turned off the water, dried her arm on a towel, and replaced her jacket. Alright, she thought, step one, damage limitation. Aloud, she summoned Boo, Sue and Lou, all of whom appeared at once, materialising in crisp maid's uniforms, (which Harriet found odd, as they would never be seen by guests). Harriet gave them their instructions. They were to go invisibly into the bathroom of every guest room in turn, and, without raising suspicion, ease shut the door and somehow wedge it closed, perhaps with towels. If a guest was already in the bathroom, they needed to wait until he or she left. If a guest was in the shower... well, then they had to get in the shower too, and by any means necessary prevent the massage panel from sliding across.

At this, the old ghosts huffed indignantly. Getting in a shower with naked people! The very idea! However, Harriet was insistent, and so off they flew, still complaining, to carry out the task.

Next, Harriet scooped up Beryl's discarded clothes and took them down to the distraught girl. Then she summoned Violetta, and explained the situation. Leaving her to deal with the weeping Beryl, not to mention the new complaints that were now rolling in about jammed bathroom doors, Harriet strode out of the castle proper, through the kitchen gardens, and into the outbuildings that were designated the caretaker's workroom. She paused for a moment, listening to the cacophony of mechanical rumblings from within, then rapped sharply on the old oak door. It creaked open by itself. "Hello?" she called out, entering the maelstrom. Inside, the cottage had been gutted. Its internal walls had been torn out, the cheery fireplaces demolished and the flagstone floor pulled up. Billows of steam were causing the wallpaper to peel forlornly away from the remaining walls. Gigantic cogs, wheels, camshafts, pulleys, ratchets and rack and pinion systems churned away, all spinning, grinding, pumping and pulling, working some mysterious magic deep in the castle, by means of connected ropes, belts and levers. A huge boiler in the middle of the room rattled and whined, a whistling steam-kettle noise issuing from its vent every few seconds. This beast was connected to a set of fat pipes which dove underground and presumably led to the castle. Scattered around the room, disembodied hands held pieces of equipment in place, or scampered to and fro carrying tools. In the middle of this chaos was the Professor, conducting the machines as if he was the focus of a symphony orchestra.

Why, oh why, Harriet thought, did I not check up on what the Professor was doing? Her tweed suit suddenly felt hot, stuffy and itchy. Her coarse, dry hair greedily sucked up the moisture in the air and tendrils curled and stuck to her face. Flustered and angry, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and shouted out to the Professor. "What on Earth were you thinking, putting re-animated arms in the showers? Are you crazy? Do you want to scare the guests away? Do you want us to fail?"

The Professor frowned. "You don't like the massagers?" he asked in his thick German accent. "I know you ask for special massaging shower-heads, but I think, that must be mistake, because heads don't massage, do they? Hands massage. So I send Mr. Gore. I say, go and find me massaging hands. He go to Sweden, where they train good masseuse. It take a long time, but he find nine dead masseuse, and he dig them up, and break into the coffin, and bring me back eighteen arms. So, I put in all the guest rooms. What is the matter? Are they not good masseuse? Did Edgar get wrong arms?"

"Massaging heads," Harriet explained through gritted teeth, "are mechanical devices which pulsate water to create a soothing shower experience. I thought everyone knew that." The Professor shrugged. "Anyway," Harriet went on. "What I need to know is can you disable them? Quickly?"

The Professor shrugged again. "Oh, sure. I can just cut the power to the arms, so they don't re-animate when the button is pushed." He looked thoughtfully at a tangle of cables on the floor, then picked out a few, withdrew a knife from the toolbelt around his waist, and sliced them neatly in half. There was a shower of sparks, a sound like a bottle of fizzy drink opening, and a smell unpleasantly like bacon. The professor's hair was standing on end. "There we go," he said mildly, extinguishing a patch of flame on his shoulder, and returning the knife to his toolbelt. "All arms rendered inoperable."

"Um, thanks..." Harriet said, as the Professor turned back to his baffling machines. Then an unpleasant thought struck her. "Um, Professor? In your capacity as caretaker here, you haven't used any other... re-animated body parts... around the place, have you?"

The Professor looked at her and blinked. "Apart from my helping hands?" he said, indicating his creepy assistants. "Oh, and that monstrosity you call a physical fitness instructor?"

Harriet winced. She'd finally managed to get Norm to tell her the story of his creation at the hands of the Professor, and it wasn't pleasant. The Professor considered Norm his greatest failure. According to him, Norm was simply a collection of nerves and impulses, with no ability to reason, and no capacity to feel emotions. Harriet knew this to be false, but the Professor's mind was made up – so much so that when a baying crowd of superstitious villagers had approached the Professor's cliff-top laboratory, he had happily sent Norm out to satisfy their bloodlust. Norm had only just escaped with his life, and the two hadn't seen each other again until Castle Romanoff.

"Well...yes, in fact I have used other body parts," the Professor confirmed. "Remember? You asked me to dead-head the roses."

Harriet slapped her forehead. "Good Lord," she said, thinking, thank goodness the guests haven't been into the greenhouses yet. She'd need to send out a clean-up team straight away. She turned and walked briskly towards the door.

"Oh, and you may recall," added the Professor, "Viktor asking that I keep an eye on anything mechanical in the castle which could go wrong."

"Keep an eye on...? Oh good gracious me!" Not pausing to say goodbye to the Professor, Harriet fled. There was a lot of work to be done.

# Chapter Fifteen

"There you are!" Della announced as Beryl strolled back into their bedroom. "We were wondering what happened to you."

"Oh!" Beryl replied. "I was downstairs. I was talking to that woman – Violetta – I don't remember why, and then I met the Count!"

"Oh yes?" said Doreen. "What's he like then? Old and crusty?"

"Oh, no," Beryl answered, hugging her arms around her body. "Young and handsome!"

Della and Doreen exchanged looks. "Bet he's boring then," Della said jealously. "What did you talk about?"

Beryl wrinkled her forehead. "I'm... um... I'm not sure. I know he looked deep into my eyes..."

"Oh yes?"

"And then... and then... he explained that the massage heads in the showers weren't working yet... and he apologised for the inconvenience."

"Wow," Della said. "He looked deep into your eyes for that?"

"Yeah," added Doreen, rolling her eyes. "Sounds like a real romantic."

Beryl scratched her head. Something wasn't right. She wandered into the bathroom, opened the shower door, and pressed the massage button. Nothing happened.

"We went for a walk," Doreen called out to her, "and met that Harriet woman again. Man, does she have a moustache! Anyway, she wouldn't let us into the greenhouse. Something about pesticide fumes."

"She was being a bit weird," Della added.

"So," Doreen said, "we came back through reception, and saw that pretty young thing, what's her name?"

"Callie," Della supplied.

"Callie, right, and we booked beauty treatments for all of us tomorrow. It's free. Alright?"

Something was still niggling at Beryl, but she couldn't figure out what. "Yeah, alright," she said. "Sounds good."

"Why's your sweater on backwards?" Della asked her, suddenly noticing.

"I... I don't know," Beryl replied, chewing on her lip. She hadn't taken off her clothes recently, had she? And why was her hair wet?

#

Harriet looked up at the hazel eyeball, which was pointing sightlessly in her direction from its perch atop the emergency backup generator. Once again, this one was too high for Edgar to reach, so Harriet took a deep breath then plucked it down and placed it into the jar alongside its companions. It was the forty-seventh eyeball they had recovered. As she wiped the squidgy jelly-like residue off her fingers with her handkerchief, Harriet wondered what was more worrying – the forty-seven eyeballs themselves, or the fact that the Professor thought that forty-seven pieces of machinery could potentially go wrong. "I can't believe the two of you didn't know what 'keeping an eye on something' meant!" she said to Edgar.

Edgar Gore shrugged – a movement which is almost undetectable in a hunchback – and explained. "We learned to thpeak English two hundred yearth ago. Around that time we began to live in hiding and therefore we have not heard many modern colloquialithmth and idiomth."

"Well," Harriet said, regarding the bulgy and slightly dripping sack that the hunchback held in one hand, "you now know that dead-heading roses means cutting off the old spent and drooping flowers, right?"

Edgar patted the sack, and the resulting squelchy sound made Harriet gag. "Oh yes, now we know."

"Uh... have you got a good place to dispose of those?" She indicated the bulgy sack with a nod and then passed him the jar as well. "And these? Somewhere the guests won't go?"

Edgar took a moment to balance his two loads. "Oh yeth, Mithtreth Fullmoon."

"And you're sure that's it for body parts?"

"The Profethor wanted me to collect forty-theven eyeballth, twelve headth and eighteen armth. That ith all." His small chest inflated proudly. "We uthed one right hand on fixthing Norm, tho I had to get a nineteenth arm too."

For a moment, Harriet thought about explaining to the little man just how disgusting it was to rob graves for a living, but then she looked into his proud, eager-to-please face and shrugged. They were all of them vile in some way, weren't they? She herself knew what it was to taste fresh human flesh. So who was she to judge? "Good," she said, and Edgar beamed. She rubbed her face, and finding bristles, said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get ready for the party tonight."

#

"I'm wild again... beguiled again... a simpering, whimpering child again," Hella crooned, hidden behind swathes of fabric and swaying upon the stage suspended above the dancefloor. "Bewitched, bothered and bewildered – am I."

Swizelsticks hummed along and snapped his fingers. He was in his element. The band was swinging, wine was flowing and people were chatting and relaxing. Although he wasn't much of a wizard, Swizelsticks knew his potions work had always been sound, and this made all the difference when it came to mixing cocktails. Plus, he had a small store of ingredients to add extra zing – fairydust, ground eye of newt – that sort of thing. He also found he had a knack for guessing people's favourite drinks before they asked for them. Perhaps this was not surprising. His mother had been a fortune teller after all. The loud man with the family – he had 'scotch and soda' written all over him. The three travel agents – 'sea breeze,' 'pina colada,' and 'rum and coke'. Easy.

Now Dan and Mike, the two sharply dressed businessmen approached the bar, Armani sports jackets over open shirts. The one on the left, he would go for a red wine. And the one on the right, a martini. Swizelsticks poured out the wine, and then readied a solid silver shaker. This guy would ask for "shaken, not stirred," just like James Bond, thinking he was witty and original. He did. Smiling, Swizelsticks poured measures of gin and vermouth into the container, replaced the lid and mixed it smoothly, looking out at the dining hall as he did so. He saw Harriet passing, dressed in a deep burgundy velvet gown, her hair swept up, and only a hint of a five-o'clock shadow on her chin. Still watching her, hoping to catch her eye, he reached for a jar which was positioned on the top of the bar, unscrewed the lid, and removed an olive, stabbing it with a toothpick and dropping it into a glass in one well-practised motion. Still not looking, he poured the martini over the olive, and slid the glass across to the customer. Then he did look, and all of the colour drained from his face. It was not an olive he had placed in the glass, it was an eyeball. A human eyeball.

Bewildered, Swizelsticks looked at the olive jar, only to see two jars upon the benchtop, one full of innocuous green fruit, one full of human peepers. With a strangled yelp, Swizelsticks scooped the offending jar off the bench and tucked it away out of sight. Then he turned his attention to the glass. The man had it to his lips, was taking a sip. He hadn't noticed the eyeball. There was still a chance Swizelsticks could recover the situation. He stared at the glass, and began to intone a charm. "Olive, olive, olive," he chanted.

Suddenly Violetta was leaning over the bar, her acute hearing having picked up the yelp. "Is everything alright here?"

Swizelsticks nodded towards the glass, his eyes large and round, sweat pouring from his forehead. "Olive, olive, olive," he chanted.

"Oh for pity's sake..." Violetta began, seeing the pickled organ in its bath of alcohol. At the same moment, the eyeball sprang to life, jumping and jittering in the cocktail, slopping liquid over the sides. The horrified owner of the cocktail at first thought his arm had been bumped and looked around for the offender, but soon realised the truth. He stared in disbelief at the eyeball, and the eyeball stared back at him, also in disbelief. Then the man began to scream. Swizelsticks wrung his hands together and hopped from foot to foot, unsure what to do. Violetta grabbed the glass, pulled out the eyeball, stuck it in her mouth, removed the toothpick, and swallowed. The man and his companion stared at her. She looked back at them, staring deep into their eyes, and said, "It was only a cocktail onion. Someone bumped your arm."

"Y..e...es..." the man agreed after a moment. "It was only a cocktail onion. Someone... someone bumped my arm."

"Someone bumped your arm," agreed the other man.

"I'm so sorry," Swizelsticks said. "Let me refresh your drinks."

"Th...thank you," said the first man. "That would be lovely."

Bent down under the bar, Lisa let out the breath she had been holding. She had come over to ask for a glass of chardonnay, but noticed a coin on the floor and had bent down to pick it up the moment all the excitement started. She had stayed crouched low, and unseen by Violetta and Swizelsticks, had witnessed everything. It hadn't been a cocktail onion. Even now, she could see, just through a small gap under the bar, the jar of eyeballs, sitting on the floor out of sight of the guests. How had Violetta convinced those men otherwise? Lisa decided it was best not to find out. She made herself as small as possible and stayed crouched low.

After a while, Violetta moved away, and Lisa was considering sneaking off, when Craig came over. "What are you doing down there?" he said loudly.

"Shh!" Lisa hissed, grabbing her brother by the wrist and dragging him down. A moment later, Harriet came bustling over.

"Can I have a word?" she said sharply to Swizelsticks, motioning him to the end of the bar, away from the guests, but towards Lisa and Craig's hiding place. Quickly, the pair waddled further away, around the corner of the bar, Craig making quizzical faces at Lisa, while Lisa shook her head and put her finger to her lips.

"Violetta told me what happened," Harriet said angrily, "but not how. How could you have been so careless?"

Looking like a puppy that had just been caught doing a wee on the new carpet, Swizelsticks shrugged. "The jar of eyeballs was on the bar exactly where the olives are kept."

Craig gasped, and Lisa pointed to the gap under the bar. Craig lowered his head, had a look and gasped again, loud enough this time for Lisa to clap her hand over his mouth.

Harriet sighed. "I see. That means this is Edgar's fault for leaving the jar there. He and the Professor have caused me enough trouble already today. I think this is the last straw. I only hope he hasn't left the bag of heads anywhere inappropriate."

"Bag of heads?" Craig yelped.

"Bag of heads?" Swizelsticks said at the same time, fortunately covering Craig's exclamation.

"Mmm," said Harriet. "I'll tell you later. Still, I don't see how you served the drink without noticing." Because I was looking at you, Swizelsticks thought, but he didn't say anything. "Also," Harriet went on, "why did the dead eyeball spring to life?"

Swizelsticks flushed bright red. "Oh, that," he said. "I...I was trying to use magic to make it better. I was chanting olive, olive..."

"And?"

"Well, I might have sort of said 'oh live, oh live' by accident."

"I see," said Harriet, biting her lip. "Well, you must be more careful in the future." She turned on her heel and stomped away. Swizelsticks stared at her back, thinking, she's magnificent, until he was snapped back to attention by the strident voice of Albert Fisher, who had apparently been talking to him for some time.

"I SAID, a gin and orange, a lemon squash and a scotch and water, PLEASE!"

#

The only two people who were not invited to the welcome party stared at each other across the gloomy playroom. She doesn't look like a babysitter, Amy thought. In Amy's experience, babysitters were pretty teenage girls who talked on the phone all night to their boyfriends, ignoring Amy, and eating delivery pizza which they wouldn't offer to share. This woman was like no one Amy had ever seen. Her face was a mass of fissures, like scrunched up tissue-paper and her long, tangled hair was as coarse and dull as mouldy straw. Her false teeth looked metallic – as if they were made of iron. She wore a skirt made of several layers of clashing colours and fabrics, topped by a knitted poncho. In amongst the folds of the skirt, chains and strings of leather held assorted trinkets, like a giant charm bracelet. So far the woman hadn't spoken to her, and so Amy hadn't spoken either. The two of them just sat on miniature chairs and stared at each other. After a while, uncomfortable with the staring, Amy began to study the room. Like most playrooms, there were toys scattered around – blocks and balls, dolls and dress-ups, trucks and T-rexes. In amongst these everyday objects were less familiar ones – pieces of rusty metal, crystals of amethyst, a stag's horn, a dried-up seahorse, a copper disc patterned with a five-sided star, a silver broom made out of tree-branch and a set of stones with funny carvings on them. Amy then turned her attention to the walls. They were made of dull grey stones which were covered in posters of animals – not the usual puppies, kittens and bunnies, but featuring ugly animals like axolotls, hagfish, tarantulas, toads, vampire bats and an awful lot of chickens.

"You like animals, little girl?" the old lady suddenly said, right into Amy's ear. Amy jumped, startled, not having seen the woman move to her side. She bit her lip to stifle a whimper, and nodded. Wide-eyed, she watched the woman reach into a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt, and remove a live chick. It wasn't a cute fluffy yellow chick like the teachers brought to nursery school at Easter time. This chick was a bit older – caught in the awkward stage between fluffy down and adult feathers. It peered at Amy and squawked a strangled cry. The woman took Amy's hand and curled it into a fist. She then tapped the fist three times with a knobbly stick. Amy felt something appearing in her empty hand, growing from nothing. She opened her fist quickly and was astonished to find it full of kibbled maize. As the tiny chicken began to peck the ground corn out of her palm, Amy giggled. If she had been looking at Barbara at that moment, she might have seen one of the deep wrinkles on Barbara's face vanish as if it had never been there.

#

Lisa and Craig sat together in a far corner of the dining hall discussing what they had heard. Lisa described the whole scene, expecting her brother to be incredulous, but he seemed to accept it all as gospel. When she had finished, Craig sat for a while in silence, theatrically screwing up his face, scratching his head and tapping his chin to indicate that he was thinking. "So," he said finally, ticking points off on his fingers. "We know there's a jar of what look like human eyeballs behind the bar. It seems that Violetta can make people forget what they've just seen. We know she doesn't mind eating eyeballs - yuk! We know that Swizelsticks thinks he can make dead eyeballs come to life by magic, although only accidentally. We know Harriet knows about all of this..." He trailed off, thinking again. "Hmmm... What was Harriet saying about a sack of heads? What does that mean? Real human heads?"

"I don't know," Lisa replied. "But I know who does." She nodded at Edgar who was just being intercepted by Harriet as he crossed the dining hall. "Come on!" The siblings stood and followed Harriet and Edgar out into the hallway, just in time to hear Harriet dressing down the hunchback.

"I trusted you to get rid of those items," she was fuming. "I expressly told you that they mustn't be left anywhere the guests can find them. And what do you go and do? Only leave the jar out in full sight on the bar!" The hunchback was wringing his hands and looking down at his winkle-picker shoes which he shuffled to and fro.

Craig felt sorry for him. "It was my fault," he said, impulsively. Harriet jumped, then looked at Craig and Lisa in alarm, assessing how much they'd heard. She was pretty sure she hadn't actually mentioned eyeballs or heads. Craig continued. "You see, earlier today, before the party, I came into the ballroom and saw Mr. Gore standing at the bar, talking to Mr. Swizelsticks. I asked him to come with me, but he said that he had a job to do, and he couldn't. So then I told him that it was an emergency and that he had to come, so he did. He must have left behind whatever it was he was supposed to get rid of..."

Harriet narrowed her eyes. "And what was this emergency?"

Craig tried to look embarrassed. "Well," he mumbled, "actually, there wasn't one. It was a trick. I thought it would be funny."

"I see," said Harriet. "Is this true, Mr. Gore?"

Edgar looked at his saviour in disbelief. Craig nodded his head vigorously, encouraging him. "Uh...yeth," the hunchback confirmed.

Harriet turned back to Craig. "And did you see what was in the jar?"

Feigning wide-eyed innocence, Craig replied, "Oh, no Ma'am."

"Very well," Harriet said. "Try to be more careful in the future, Mr. Gore, and you, young man, no more tricks. You wouldn't want to get someone fired, would you?" Craig shook his head.

"I'm very sorry for my brother's actions," Lisa added. "It won't happen again." Harriet nodded, then strode back into the dining hall to attend to her guests.

Edgar motioned Craig and Lisa along the corridor and they followed him into a room. Muttering "Flip the thwitch, Edgar" under his breath, Edgar flipped an old-fashioned metal switch and all of the candles in the chandelier sprang to life. Huh, thought Lisa. They must be electric after all. Then she looked around the room and gasped. They were in a library, and three of the walls were covered in bookshelves, stretching from floor to towering ceiling and crammed with thousands of ancient leather-bound volumes. A wooden ladder on wheels allowed for searching the top shelves. This was Lisa's idea of heaven. There were even comfortable over-stuffed leather armchairs for curling up on with a book, and a blazing fire in the hearth set into the fourth wall. Had that fire been going a moment ago? Edgar motioned to the chairs and the three of them sat.

"Why did you lie for me?" Edgar asked Craig, his eyes wide with wonder.

Craig shrugged. "I didn't want you to get into trouble, I guess. It's no biggie."

"No biggie?"

"No big deal."

"No one'th ever thtuck up for me before," Edgar marvelled. "Thank you!"

"So..." said Craig, "I guess this means that we're friends, right?"

Edgar was astonished. "Friendth? Friendth? Oh, yeth, pleathe!" He clapped his little hands together in delight.

Lisa looked at Craig with suspicion, wondering where this was heading, but Craig merely pressed on. "Good," he said. "You, me and Lisa, we're all friends now."

Edgar nodded eagerly.

"And, you know, Edgar, friends don't have secrets from each other."

Edgar looked uncertainly at the teenager.

"For example," Craig went on, "My sister Lisa here isn't really a blonde. She dyes her hair!"

Edgar giggled with glee at this snippet of gossip, while Lisa, a natural strawberry blonde, glared at Craig.

Then she realised what he was doing. She thought for a moment. "I know a secret too. Craig wet the bed until he was ten years old." Craig opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered their mission, and turned expectantly to Edgar. "Ahem... any secrets, Edgar?" Lisa asked.

The little man looked to each side, and leaned forward conspiratorially. Lisa and Craig leaned forward too. "Thometimeth," Edgar said, "I don't brush my teeth before I go to bed at night!"

"Oh," said Lisa, flopping back in her seat.

Craig let out a little howl. "No," he said. "That's not the secret we meant! We wanted to hear about the eyeballs and the heads!"

At this Lisa poked him sharply in the ribs.

Edgar, still excited by the concept of friendship, didn't notice. "Oh, them!" he said. "I did forget the jar of eyeballth, but I put the headth in the pantry in the kitchen. The public can't go into the kitchen, you know," and then he whispered, "that'th where Thkully hangth out, and we can't let anyone thee him!"

"Thkully?" Lisa asked, but Edgar was still speaking.

"And then there are the armth, but we can't get them out from behind the showerth until after everyone hath gone back home."

"There are arms behind the shower?" Craig asked him. "Human arms? Like, dead body parts?"

"Oh, yeth," Edgar agreed. "I dug them all up mythelf."

"Oh," Craig said. "And are there any more dead body parts around the castle?"

Edgar shook his head. "No. Well, apart from the partth making up Norm. The Profethor thinkth making him was a mithtake."

"Norm," Lisa repeated. That odd-looking oversized physical fitness guy. She exchanged a perplexed glance with her brother. What did "making him" mean?

Edgar suddenly frowned, realising that he might have said too much. "I'd better be getting back before Mith Fullmoon mitheth me," he said, scooting down from his seat. As he reached the door, he turned back to the pair. "Were they good thecretth?"

Lisa and Craig followed behind. "Yes," Lisa answered him. "Those were very good secrets."

# Chapter Sixteen

Viktor's moustache twitched as he suppressed his annoyance. Harriet was obviously very concerned, and it wouldn't be appropriate to compound her worries by expressing his own anger. The situation with the arms and eyeballs and heads as she had outlined it was unfortunate – and it had been avoidable. Because of Swizelsticks, the Professor and Edgar, there were two gentlemen now under Violetta's thrall. It was a shame she had been obliged to mesmerise them, but Viktor supposed it wasn't the end of the world. After all, he had needed to employ the same technique this afternoon to calm down the hysterical Beryl after her incident in the shower.

"Very well managed," Viktor said, when Harriet finished her story. He pushed his plate to one side and patted his moustache with a napkin as if he had actually been eating and not just pushing his dessert around his plate, pretending.

Harriet was about to respond, but felt three ghostly taps on her shoulder, the prearranged signal that one of the sisters wanted to talk to her. "I'm going to meet with the maids in the kitchen," she said aloud to Viktor, both to excuse herself from the table and to let Boo, Sue or Lou know she had got the message. Viktor nodded.

#

Once Harriet had left, Viktor leaned back to survey the party. Three centuries ago, this same dining hall, at that time the grand ballroom, had played host to many parties. There was the winter ball held each year by Viktor and Sebastian's parents, the party to which his cousin Violetta had first invited her new friend, Rose. Later, there was Sebastian and Rose's betrothal party – a night of laughter and music and merriment – and then of course, their wedding. How full of high spirits they had all been, Viktor, Sebastian, Violetta and Rose. How carefree!

The ballroom had also been the setting for more sombre ceremonies, Viktor knew, although he had not been permitted to attend his father's funeral. He shook his head slightly to prevent himself heading into a dark spiral of morose memories. It was best to concentrate on the present, rather than dwell in the past, and the present was this party. He should probably check that everything was going smoothly, and the easiest way to so this was to use his acute hearing to eavesdrop on conversations.

Over at the bar, the two biddies were boring the ears off of Swizelsticks. "Such a shame that Mr. Lagoon wasn't able to attend the party. I do hope he's feeling quite well. We have plans for him, don't we, Hortense?"

"Oh yes," she giggled. "Only, I doubt he's unwell, Emily, as he has such a wonderful physique. I expect he's fighting fit."

"Mr. Lagoon is preparing for tomorrow, I believe," Swizelsticks told them. Well, that was almost true. He was out in the lake, practising swimming in a wetsuit. He had begged off coming to the party, claiming that these overzealous fans would no doubt expose him for what he was if they got too close. Viktor wasn't so sure – both of them looked as blind as bats to him. He moved on.

That horrible Fisher man and his equally odious son had cornered Sir Osis. The headless horseman, or rather re-headed horseman, kept looking furtively around the pair towards the bar, and licking his lips, eager for a drink. The Fishers didn't notice his discomfort, or if they did, they didn't care. Encouraged by his dad, the boy recounted his horse riding expertise to an increasingly anxious Sir Osis as the riding instructor began to sink lower and lower into the floor. Viktor frowned. Soon the Fishers would notice the ghost's decreasing height. Should he interfere?

"Are you even listening?" Albert Fisher said suddenly, leaning forward to poke Sir Osis. Viktor held his breath, half expecting the man's chubby finger to go right through the ghost, but Sir Osis dodged backwards, avoiding the finger, and resuming his correct position with respect to the floor.

"Um, yes, I think so. Your boy says he is an excellent rider, and he doesn't want a pony and he needs a bit of a challenge. Yes, that's fine. We should be able to sort something out. I might put him on Dragonslayer..."

The boy smiled. "Wicked!"

Then the dad said, "Good man, put her there," and reached out his hand for Sir Osis to shake. Viktor held his breath again, but Sir Osis had the situation under control. He started to stick out his hand then stopped, pretended to sneeze into it, then apologised and shrugged. Albert hastily withdrew his hand, and Viktor smiled. Sir Osis seemed to be doing just fine.

The three travel agents had been dancing for much of the evening, along with the two golf-nuts and the travel-writer, but now that the band was on a break two of them had sought out Callie, and were discussing possible beauty treatments with her. They oo-ed and ah-ed over coconut milk spas, honey body scrubs, and olive oil hair therapy. To Viktor, it sounded more like a cooking lesson that a beauty regime. "How do you get your skin so creamy?" Della asked Callie. Callie shook off the question, changing the subject. Viktor knew the answer – she used poisonous white lead on her face, which was fine for gorgons, but had been responsible for the slow, agonising deaths of many ordinary women in ancient Greece. Beryl looked up and caught his eye at that moment, blushing and waggling her fingers in a little wave. Viktor looked quickly away, pretending he hadn't seen. That was always the problem putting someone in thrall. They often became fascinated by you.

One of the golf-nuts, Dan, was similarly watching Violetta as she circulated, checking on proceedings. He was chief publishing director of a popular European in-flight magazine, Viktor recalled, and he was married, but his wife hadn't been able to attend. Dan was also in Violetta's thrall, unfortunately, due to the eyeball-in-the-drink incident. Viktor hoped Violetta wouldn't take advantage of the situation. She had never taken to sheep's blood, and Viktor knew she craved the real thing. Maybe it had been wrong to bring her back to the castle, but so much time had passed, Viktor rationalised, and it was time to let the past go. The castle was Violetta's home after all. Plus, the two cousins were both coping with the same affliction. All perfectly sound reasons for reconciliation, but perhaps the greatest reason was that Viktor and his cousin had been friends once, and he missed her.

There he was again, thinking gloomy thoughts. He turned back to Dan, (still making puppy-dog eyes at Violetta), and his buddy Mike, the other golf-nut, who was publishing manager of a luxury travel magazine. An article in either man's publication would be good for business. They were sitting with Norm. Viktor listened in to see if Norm was making an acceptable impression on them. It seemed Mike was telling Norm some sort of golfing story while Norm simply stared at him blankly.

"So," Mike was saying, "I sliced the ball around the dogleg, and it landed on the dance floor. I was hoping it would get legs, but it stayed put just where it had dropped."

Norm scratched his head. Harriet had supplied him with a child's library book on golf, full of pictures, and she had even read it to him. He thought he had a good understanding of the game, pointless as it seemed. He'd practised out on the castle's course a couple of times. You used sticks, called clubs, although they didn't look like clubs, and with them you hit a ball around the grass until it went into a little hole. None of what Mike was saying made any sense, but Norm felt that the man was waiting for his response, so he said, "So if it didn't get legs, it couldn't dance?"

"Bingo," Mike replied. "I wound up getting a bogey on that hole. Still, it had been a double bogey the week before."

"Yuk," Norm said, wondering what mucous had to do with anything.

"Yuk indeed," the man replied. "Certainly messed up my scorecard." Ah, thought Norm. That explained it. The man must have sneezed all over his scorecard and made the ink run.

"Dan did much better than me of course. He hit a birdie on that hole."

Norm winced, remembering his own experience out on the castle course when some of the livestock had wandered onto the green. "Ouch," he said. "I hope it was alright. I hit a sheep once, and it fell over."

Mike regarded Norm with a puzzled expression, and then burst out laughing. "Ha – very funny. Good man – need a sense of humour in golf. Anyway," he went on, "Dan has a wicked hook," (at this, Norm looked sideways at Dan's hands, but they looked normal to him, so he didn't say anything), "and when he teed off at the next hole, he drove the ball straight into the kitty litter!"

"Oh dear," Norm murmured, bewildered.

"So of course he had to get out his new sand wedge," Mike said. Mmmm, thought Norm. Sandwich... "Anyway," the man continued, before Norm was able to ask about sandwich fillings. "What's your handicap?"

Norm was somewhat taken aback. "Um," he said. "I don't have a handicap. Harriet says I'm just slow."

The man nodded. "No handicap, eh? You must be good. Well, we'll see tomorrow out on the course. What sort of hazards will we find on your links?"

Once more, Norm felt confused. The man had changed the subject so abruptly. Links? Did he mean the chains connected to the gym equipment in the dungeon? "Um," Norm said. "Well, some of them are very heavy. And there's some sharp bits, I guess."

"I'm hearing you, Buddy," Mike said. Viktor smiled and turned away. Norm was doing okay for the moment.

Edgar caught his eye next. Despite his mistake with the eyeballs, the hunchback had been doing a splendid job waiting on tables all through dinner, never getting an order wrong and not spilling a drop. Now the Fisher woman, Penny, had stopped Edgar as he passed her table, clutching his arm with long red-nailed fingers. "Isn't it wonderful you working here?" she said to him. "Thank goodness for equal employment opportunities."

"Madam?" Edgar said, not sure what she was talking about.

Penny bent right down and said slowly, as if talking to an idiot, "You're doing very well for a little person."

"Oh. Yeth Mith, thank you Mith," Edgar replied, trying to shake off her hand.

"Oooo," Penny squealed. "And you've got a speech impediment too! How marvellous!" She let go of his arm so that she could clap her hands excitedly, and he scampered off. Unfortunately for Ankh, her gaze fell on him next. "Ah, Doctor," she said. "Just the man I wanted to see. How's your plastic surgery healing? You know, I've often thought about a bit of nip and tuck myself." Viktor winced. Although Ankh's cover story was a lie, as far as this woman had been told, Ankh had needed surgery as the result of an unfortunate accident. She was gauche and tactless – the perfect woman, in fact, to be married to Mr. Albert Fisher.

"Yes," Ankh answered her, peering at the crow's feet around her eyes, and the extra chins beginning to gather about her neck. "I can see why you might consider that." Touché, thought Viktor, but the woman didn't seem to notice this implied insult.

"I wanted to talk to you about the state of my health," she continued, patting the seat next to her as an invitation to sit. Resigned, Ankh sat. The tone of her voice, Ankh noticed, exactly matched that of the eldest of Pharaoh's three wives. This ancient Egyptian queen had been a hypochondriac, convinced she was dying of a different disease every week. In the end, of course, she had died in the same manner as Ankh – namely, she had been killed, mummified and buried in the Pharaoh's tomb to be with him in the afterlife. "I just have a general feeling of malaise," Penny explained. "Like something's not quite right."

You're bored and you don't get enough attention, Ankh silently diagnosed. Instead, he said, "Why don't you come by my office tomorrow?"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Penny. "I also suffer from terrible headaches. My doctor back home doesn't know what to do! Maybe you can help me. Oh, and I seem to have done something to my left elbow, it goes all funny when I bend it like this. Plus, there's a mole on my back I'm a little concerned about..." she turned her back to Ankh and began to lift her spangley top to show him. Viktor left them to it.

There was very little to hear at the table occupied by the two teenage boys who had arrived with the history woman, as all of them were tucking into second helpings of dessert, brought to them by an eager-to-please Edgar. At least that group did not seem too demanding, although he was concerned that the woman had seemed to be snooping earlier.

The third travel agent and her sulky daughter were standing at the Professor's table. Although the Professor was physically attending the party, as requested, he might as well have been miles away as far as interaction with the guests went. He had brought several sheets of blueprints with him and was studying these documents through a brass and glass lens affixed to his right eye by means of a metal headband. He was furiously amending details of the plans using a grease pencil. "Excuse me," Doreen was saying for the third time, while Peaches hung back and stared at her, shooting daggers.

This time, the Professor heard her. He looked up, saw the large, bubbly blonde woman made even larger by his optical magnifier, and leapt to his feet. "Fräulein!" he said. Then his eyes fell on what she held in her hands, and his face lit up. "How may I help you? Something is broken, yes?"

"Yes," Doreen said, sitting, and motioning Peaches over to join her. The young teen sloped grudgingly to the table, but wouldn't sit. "Peaches here is having problems with her MP3 player. We were wondering if there was anything you could do to fix it."

The Professor nodded and snatched the machine from Doreen. He examined it a moment. "Ah yes, yes, it is a music box, ja? I can fix."

Viktor turned to the final table in the room. This was taken up by the married couple, Rachel and Phil Whitely, who were the owners of a publishing company specialising in travel books for package holidaymakers, and Ken Trepid, just arriving with an after dinner coffee. Viktor knew that Ken frequently called himself the world's foremost independent travel expert, and was hoping for a favourable review from him. They introduced themselves. "Ken Trepid, pleased to meetcha," the younger man said, thrusting out a bronzed hand. Both Phil and Rachel shook it in turn, and gave their names, with Rachel adding that they owned Departure Lounge Publications, and then watching Ken very carefully. "Sure, sure," Ken said. "That's just great."

Rachel wrinkled her forehead. "You were one of the guest speakers at the Travel Writer's Institute conference last year in Paris, weren't you, Mr. Trepid?"

"Please, call me Ken," Ken said, not answering her.

"How horrible was that buffet dinner?" Rachel said to him.

"Oh, yeah," he agreed. "You'd think the French would know how to cook, eh? Listen, excuse me, but I forgot to put sugar in this coffee." He got to his feet, nodded at the couple and wandered back to the bar, coffee cup in hand.

Unfortunately, at that moment, the history woman hesitantly approached Viktor's table, causing him to miss the conversation that followed, namely Rachel hissing to Phil, "I don't think that's Ken Trepid!"

"What? How do you mean?" her husband replied. "Looks like the guy to me,"

"Weren't you listening? Firstly, he didn't react to me saying we owned Departure Lounge Publications, even though he wrote once that we're the scum of the Earth for encouraging 'bland, identikit package holidays'." She made her fingers into little quote marks. "And then he said that the food at the Paris buffet was horrible – but remember, we didn't even get to eat because that waiter knocked over the whole table? And also, he's drinking coffee!"

"So?"

"So, Ken Trepid was in the paper last week calling for a boycott of coffee until growers are paid fair wages."

Phil shrugged. "Sometimes people say one thing and do another," he pointed out.

"I wonder," Rachel replied.

#

Lisa had downed a couple of whiskeys to build up the courage to approach Viktor. Once she started talking about the castle, however, her enthusiasm for the topic won out over her shyness, and it took all of Viktor's considerable charm for him to politely escape. In the end, he had agreed to give a history lecture to the blasted teenagers she had in tow. As if he wanted to dredge up the castle's past! Happy with this answer, she had scooted away to report her success to her charges. Viktor looked at his watch. Was it too early to leave the party? He thought not. As he stood, he gave the room one more quick scan, and then froze. Someone was missing. Where was Albert Fisher? Not with Sir Osis, and not with his wife and child. Had he left the room? Suddenly, there was an almighty crash from the kitchen, and Viktor had his answer.

# Chapter Seventeen

"How's it going, Harriet?" Skully asked as soon as she appeared in his kitchen. He was putting delicate petit four chocolates onto plates to be served with coffee, picking up each one by using his skeletal fingers like chopsticks.

"Alright," Harriet said. "There have been hiccups, of course. But we're not sunk yet. And of course your work has been excellent. Everyone just loves the food."

"Naturally," Skully agreed, putting down the chocolates and manually waggling his fake eyebrows at her. Harriet studied him for a moment. She wondered why he felt it necessary to wear an apron and a chef's hat. If he spilt food on himself (which was unlikely, given how skinny he was) well, then he could just wipe it off. Bones were easy to keep clean. And it wasn't as if he had any hair that might drop into the food, since he'd taken off his dreadlocks in order to put on the hat. Perhaps wearing the uniform made him feel good?

Boo, Sue and Lou materialised at that moment, standing shoulder to shoulder. They were all wearing uniforms too – old-fashioned black and white maid outfits, complete with little white frilly caps. Given they could project their images in any item of clothing they desired, Harriet supposed they must have chosen these ones as a mark of professionalism or pride in their work. She approved.

"Ladieeees," said Skully. "You are right on time. I have a lot of dishes for you to do." He waved his bony arms wildly around. "Enjoy!" Harriet could see that he wasn't kidding. Every surface of the kitchen was covered with the remains of sticky sauces, creamy custards and gooey gumbos.

"Yes, Mr. Skully," Lou said. "We just need to talk to Miss Fullmoon first."

"What is it?" Harriet asked the sisters, her stomach twisting in anticipation of the next crisis. "Problems?"

"Well, not really," Sue answered her. "It's just that we wanted to get a start on the room cleaning, and..."

Harriet cut her off. "What, now? During the party? At most hotels, the maids work in the mornings. I thought I told you this."

"We just thought that since all the guests are out of their rooms, we'd do a quick tidy. You know, sort of like a practice run."

"Okay... and...?"

"Well, everything was fine, except that we couldn't get into one of the rooms."

"What do you mean, couldn't get in? Was someone using it?"

"Oh no," Boo answered. "It was quite empty. But I tried to pop in and... well... I sort of bounced out again."

"Bounced out?"

"Mmm. And then Lou tried, and then Sue. None of us could enter."

Harriet thought for a moment. "Have you been into that room before? Whose is it?"

"Mr. Trepid's. And yes, we made the bed and set out clean towels for him just before he arrived."

Harriet thought again. "Alright," she said at last. "Let's leave it for now. If you can't get in tomorrow morning, let me know."

The three sisters nodded their agreement, and then began to attack the mountain of dishes. It was easier for them to dematerialise in order to do this, so in short order, it appeared as if dirty plates and bowls, knives and forks and pots and pans were zipping through the air, plunging into hot soapy water, flying under the cold tap and then whizzing onto drying racks all by themselves. The sisters hummed a melody as they worked, and Skully chimed in with improvised lyrics. Harriet decided to leave them to it. She was walking towards the kitchen door when it opened unexpectedly in her face. She stepped backwards and was alarmed to see one of the guests coming through.

"Mr. Fisher!" she exclaimed at the top of her voice, warning the others. There was a sudden crash behind her, followed by a clatter and then the soft clinking of bones settling on bones. "This is a staff area, Sir," Harriet went on, blocking Albert Fisher's way with her body.

"Nonsense," the man replied, side stepping her. "I've just come to give my compliments to the chef. Credit where credit's due and all that. I'm a man who likes his food and no mistake," he went on, patting his ample stomach, "but tonight's meal really took the cake. So where's the man of the hour? Oh dear. What's happened here then? Trouble with the domestics?" He was looking at the destruction that had been wrought in the kitchen. Broken dishes littered the floor and bench-tops wherever the startled sisters had dropped what they were holding. One saucer still spun in lazy circles in a puddle of water on the draining board. Harriet noticed with alarm that Skully had not had time to hide. He had simply collapsed where he stood, leaving an apron concertinaed between a pile of bones, topped by a skull and a floppy chef's hat. Mr. Fisher hadn't noticed yet, and so Harriet sidled past him and began to sneakily push the pile to one side with her foot. "Wait up there," Albert stopped Harriet, placing a big meaty hand on her arm. She could happily have bit it. In fact, the hackles on the back of her neck began to rise, and she had to concentrate on maintaining her composure. Albert now bent to examine the bundle on the floor. "What have we here? A skeleton, eh, in chef's clothing? Someone's having a sick joke, are they?"

"Apparently so," Harriet murmured. "The...uh...skeleton is Dr. Ehl Bone's specimen from his days at medical school," she improvised. "Someone was obviously having a joke at chef's expense."

"Someone, eh? But there's no one else here." Albert winked at her. "Don't worry, love, your secret's safe with me. I won't tell the boss-man what you've been up to." Suddenly he reached down and pulled Skully off the ground to look at him closely. "I see you've put glass eyes in there too," he chuckled. Then, using his hands he opened and closed the jaw of the skull in a bizarre form of ventriloquism and said through gritted teeth, "Only you'd better get that mess of broken dishes cleared up before you get into trouble, eh?" With a great guffaw, he dropped the skull and stood upright. "I don't know where your chef's got himself off to, but I suppose I'll have to congratulate him later. I do hope all the meals will be so good." Now he noticed the petits fours on their plates, and his eyes lit up. "Mmm, don't mind if I do," he said, scooping up a fistful of the chocolates. "Cheerio," he said through a full mouth, and departed.

Her head beginning to pound, Harriet checked that he had really departed, and then locked the door. She wedged a kitchen stool under the handle for good measure. "He's gone," Harriet said.

At once the sisters materialised, and began to get to work tidying the mess, all the while muttering about what an ill-mannered man Mr. Fisher was. Skully stood up, full of wounded pride and huffily started to align himself. He was wired together, but sometimes the wires twisted, particularly if he had suddenly dropped into a pile. He disentangled the apron strings from his ribs, and sat his chef's hat back on his head. Satisfied, he pushed his eyebrows low on his brow-ridge and said angrily, "Who does that man think he is? Using me like a puppet! Well, I'll show him. All his meals from now on are going to be... extra special!"

"It's my fault," Harriet said. "I forgot to lock the door behind me. I guess no one in the dining hall noticed him leaving. That's an oversight we've got to fix. And now he'll be expecting to meet a chef at some stage. Oh, what a trial!" She massaged her temples for a moment. "Well done, by the way. You all responded very quickly."

"We aim to please," Skully said. "Now let's get Edgar in here and start serving out these chocolates."

Harriet sent Edgar in, the chocolates went out, the party raged on, and finally all the guests drifted happily off to their bedrooms. The staff breathed a collective sigh of relief. "One day down," Harriet said to them. "Only six to go."

#

"I don't believe you," said Hayden. Craig's story had been ridiculous and he was surprised that Lisa seemed to be going along with it. Did they think he was an idiot? He didn't want to be rude to Lisa, since she'd arranged this trip, but he hated to be teased. He knew others thought him an easy target. He sat on the edge of his bed, arms crossed defiantly.

"Alright," said Craig. "We'll prove it." He went over to the suit of armour and began once again to prise the sword away from the gauntlet. Odd – but when they had returned from dinner, their room had been completely tidy once more, with everything put away, the surfaces spotless, and the armour back to normal and highly polished. Poor maids, Lisa had thought, having to work at dinnertime.

"What are you doing?" Hayden demanded.

"Come with us," Craig said, and marched into the bathroom.

"Oh, I see!" Lisa exclaimed.

Once they were all crammed into the bathroom, Lisa opened the shower door, and pressed the massage button. Nothing happened. She then stood aside, and let Craig into the shower. While Hayden watched on sceptically, Craig wedged the end of the sword into a crack in the tiles and heaved. The tile slid suddenly to one side, and a sickly green arm shot out from the depths beyond as if propelled by a spring. It slammed into the sword which trembled in Craig's hands. The sword easily sliced through the arm, peeling back some of the skin and flesh. Hayden staggered backwards, cracking his tailbone against the vanity unit. He stared in horror at the hideous arm, slowly matching it in colour. Then he rushed to the toilet and was violently sick. Lisa felt much the same.

"See?" said Craig, poking the arm with the tip of the sword. "Told you so."

#

Violetta stood in the quiet kitchen absorbing the tranquillity of the night. The salty tang of the sheep's blood slowly warming in the pot on the stove was almost inviting. She must be hungry, she mused. It had been a trying few weeks, keeping up her pretence, and today was the worst. Not only had her day/night sleep cycles been necessarily reversed, but she had needed to go out into the daylight, she had needed to enthral two humans without any blood reward for doing so, and she had needed to pretend to be polite to some of the vilest humans she had ever met. As she reached for a glass mug, she consoled herself with the thought that it would soon be time to make her move. At her feet, Ebony suddenly stiffened. The cat had sensed something. Without turning from the stove, Violetta narrowed her eyes, pricked up her ears and widened her nostrils. She could smell someone behind her, standing just in the doorway. There was the faint odour of spices, – cloves, she thought. Viktor. She heard him open his mouth, as if about to speak, but then he closed it again, and was suddenly gone, vanishing into mist. Ebony flattened herself to the floor and uttered a low growl.

Becoming a vampire cat had not made much difference to Ebony. In the past she had hunted rabbits, rats, mice and birds, and eaten them. Now she hunted rabbits, rats, mice and birds and drank their blood, sometimes leaving behind a little desiccated corpse, sometimes allowing larger prey to escape once she'd had enough. On the whole, drinking was better than eating, Ebony thought. No longer would she have to work around fur, avoid tails and feet, crunch through bone, or inadvertently taste the contents of something's bowels. She had also developed even more acute hearing and vision, seeing now in colour, and extra ability to run and jump. There was a downside, of course. She could no longer curl up in a beam of sunlight for fear of smouldering, and other cats avoided her.

While Ebony wound figure eights around the ankles of her mistress, Violetta finished filling the mug, and then put down a saucer of warm blood for the cat. The sheep's blood was horrible. Briefly, Violetta entertained the idea of finding Dan's room and helping herself to his blood, but being caught feasting now would ruin everything, so she forced herself to choke down the contents of the mug. Cat and woman stood in companionable silence until both had finished and licked their lips, then padded together on silent feet through to the library.

Here again Violetta sensed something not quite right. She concentrated again on her senses, but this time it was an older smell that disturbed her. Humans had been in this room, probably a few hours ago. Two of the people from the history group, she realised, and the hunchback. Why had they been here together? Ebony curled up on one of the leather wingback chairs, becoming just another puddle of darkness in the moonlit room.

Violetta didn't turn on any lights. Her vision was good enough to read the titles as she searched along the shelves. She pulled out the legal history book that she had re-discovered only two nights ago, turned to a remembered page number and re-read the text.

Property law in Mortavia in the 18th Century was surprisingly egalitarian. Both men and women could hold title to property, and in the case of inheritance, property ownership was passed to the eldest child of the deceased, regardless of gender, as a matter of course. Even if the eldest girl child was passed over by deed of will, in favour of a younger boy child, if challenged in a court of law the tradition often held, allowing the female to claim her rightful inheritance.

Violetta nodded with satisfaction, and turned the page. Halfway down, the other paragraph which had interested her seemed to leap from the page.

If the eldest child of the deceased is unable to inherit by reason of mental incapacitation or death, the property would pass to the offspring of such child, if living, rather than to his or her younger siblings.

Violetta ran her fingers over the words. They were reassuring, certainly, but she did not need them. When she was a little girl, Violetta's mother had told her the castle would be hers one day. Violetta had believed her, but when her mother had died the following year, and when her grandfather passed away just three months later, Uncle Boris, her mother's younger brother, the father of Viktor and Sebastian, had claimed the title of Count Romanoff. Soon Violetta would claim it back. Countess... she liked the sound of that.

#

Lisa, Craig and Hayden argued long into the night about what to do. Hayden was all for getting the hell out of the castle before they were all chopped up and their body parts hidden in the walls. Craig pointed out that as far as they knew, no one had been murdered – didn't Edgar explain that the body parts were dug up? Hayden said that this was hardly reassuring.

Lisa said that they should make a list of things that needed investigating before making any decisions. She'd spent the last of her savings on their flights after all. She got a pen and paper from her bag, and together they came up with eight questions.

  1. How did Violetta make Dan and Mike forget what they'd seen?

  2. How did Swizelsticks make an eyeball seemingly come to life?

  3. Why are there arms behind the shower walls? Does this have something to do with the 'massage' button? If so, are the arms supposed to come to life? Why don't they? Who put the arms there? The Professor?

  4. Are there really heads in the kitchen pantry? What are the eyeballs and the heads actually for?

  5. What did Edgar mean when he said that Norm was made of body parts?

  6. Who is "Thkully" and why does he live in the kitchen, and why can't guests go in there?

  7. Who are Harriet and Viktor really? They obviously know about what's going on in the castle, so they must be hiding something.

  8. Are the rest of the staff in on it? Why are the swimming instructor and the doctor always covered from head to toe? Are they hiding something too?

"There's too much to investigate," Craig said, looking at the list. "I reckon we'll have to split up and tackle things separately."

"Uh-uh!" said Hayden. "Haven't you watched any horror movies? People get picked off when they separate."

Lisa thought for a moment. The evidence all pointed to something a lot like a horror movie, but it was probably all some horrible misunderstanding. "Alright," she said reasonably, "We can stick together for a while, see how things work out. I think the priority is getting into the kitchen. Let's try in the morning before we go swimming."

# Chapter Eighteen

The watch was slim and stylish – platinum inlaid with marquisate, a fabulously expensive trinket. Violetta had long forgotten who had given it to her – it was over sixty years ago, after all, but the watch still kept perfect time, and now it read two o'clock. The guests would be asleep, as would those staff who slept, and those who didn't would be busy in their rooms, Violetta was sure. Nevertheless, it was preferable not to be seen skulking about in the night, and so she stood, returned the book to its place on the shelf, concentrated for a moment on her destination, and turned to mist. From her spot on a wing-backed chair, Ebony looked up, yawned, and tucked her head back under her paws.

Violetta drifted formlessly out of the library, into the entranceway, up the stairs and into the wing of the castle containing the guest rooms. She could still be seen of course, as a shapeless mass of particles, like a dark cloud, but you would have to know what you were looking for. She reached the door she was aiming for and concentrated on flowing through the crack underneath it. Reforming on the other side of the door, she was startled to discover that her skin and clothes were covered in metal dust. She rubbed at them, only to have them smear into streaks of rust. "What the hell, Sergio?" she fumed.

"Oh, you're here," the man replied, starting. "I hate when you do that. Can't you knock like a normal person? Oh, and you'd better call me Ken. In case anyone overhears."

"If anyone overhears," she whispered, "then your name is the least of your troubles. What is this crap? It must have been under the door."

Sergio started again. "You've messed it up!" He got up out of the chair he'd been sitting in, picked up the jar of iron filings and repaired the line across the threshold. "It's to prevent ghosts entering. Simple and reliable. Obviously doesn't work on vamps, though."

Violetta studied him for a moment, then curled her top lip in a sneer and hissed. "Oh dear, Sergio. A crucifix? And... is that a string of garlic? I suppose you've got vials of holy water in your pockets too, do you? What's the matter, you don't trust me all of a sudden?"

"I've never trusted you, Violetta," he said in a low voice. "You can't trust a vamp. But, a deal's a deal, and I'll send you a postcard from Russia when I've got my merchandise and you've got your castle back."

"And when will that be, exactly? I've got you in here, as promised, and you've got all the information you need. So what's stopping you?"

Sergio ran his fingers through his military-style crew-cut hair and chuckled. "You think I'm enjoying playing Ken Trepid? Wearing that itchy wig and uncomfortable false teeth and slathering myself with fake tan? Hell, I talked to a couple tonight who've actually met the guy. You didn't think of that, did you? Anyway, I'm just as keen to get going as you are – maybe more so, given my payoff. But there are some things I've got to check out first. You've waited three hundred years – surely you can wait a few more days."

#

Keen to get an early start on investigating the kitchen, Lisa had set an early alarm. When it went off, everyone groaned, but they dragged themselves out of bed and got dressed. Suddenly Lisa was hit by a realisation. This was the first morning for nearly five months that she had not awoken with a yearning for her errant husband. Whatever was going on in the castle, it was certainly a distraction from her problems.

Lisa figured that as breakfast started at seven, the kitchen would have to be open and occupied around six o'clock. Just to be on the safe side, they would go down at 5:30. Sure enough, ten minutes after they had hidden themselves behind various tapestries and curtains in the main entrance hall, they saw Edgar in his uniform emerge from the door to the right of the dining hall, whistling as he wheeled a trolley laden with breakfast supplies. He stopped, removed a key from an inside pocket, locked the door behind him, and then proceeded to push the trolley into the dining hall. They heard the sound of the dining hall door also being locked.

Now they knew where the kitchen was. Lisa slipped out from her hiding place and crept to the door. She turned the handle gently and pushed, but as expected, the door didn't move. She bent down and looked through the keyhole, convinced she could detect movement beyond, but before she could make out any shapes, there was a crash just by her ear. Startled, she bolted back to her hiding place, then peeked out. On the occasional table right next to where she had been standing, a vase had toppled over, spilling flowers onto the floor. Had she accidentally nudged the table? She didn't think so. After a moment, she returned to the kitchen door, but the keyhole was now blocked from the other side. She quickly righted the vase and picked up the flowers, held a hand up to signal the other two to stay put, and then slunk to the dining hall door to see what Edgar was up to. The keyhole here was blocked too. Lisa shrugged, turned back towards the stairs, and motioned for Craig and Hayden to join her.

Back in their room, Lisa was about to inform them of her lack of success, but Craig cut her off. "Did you see what happened with that vase?"

Lisa frowned. "No, what? I knocked it down, I guess. A shame, because I thought I could see something through the keyhole, but when I went back again, it was blocked."

"Aha!" said Craig. "That explains it! They used the vase to distract you while they blocked the keyhole!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You didn't knock the table. I was watching! It was like the vase sort of lifted up into the air and then fell over on purpose. You saw, didn't you Hayden?"

"Well, no. Lisa was blocking my view."

Lisa frowned at Craig. "You think the vase fell over how? By magic? To stop me looking through the keyhole?"

"Maybe. Makes sense."

"In any case, I want to get into that kitchen. I need to get the key from Edgar. Tell you what, leave me alone with him after breakfast. I'll figure something out."

Craig yawned. "Okay, but let's get another hour's sleep."

#

Once Lisa and the boys had left, Sergio, dressed once more as Ken, emerged from his own hiding place in the entrance hall, and rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. The needle of his meter had gone wild over a huge surge of electromagnetic activity in the vicinity of the vase when it had fallen over. One of the ghosts had obviously pushed it, stopping the woman from snooping through the keyhole. He consulted the map of the castle that Violetta had provided him. The door the woman had been trying to peep through was the kitchen, where the skeleton lived and worked, and where the zombie band could be found working before lunch and dinner. Sergio wondered if the woman had a particular reason to be snooping around. Did she and the boys suspect the staff, or was it simply some sort of spy game? Well, they weren't doing a very good job of it, either way. Sergio smiled and patted his belt sewn full of iron sand which allowed him to slip past ghosts unnoticed. You had to have the right equipment to do the job properly. He looked once more at the map, and as ever, his eyes were pulled to Violetta's hand drawn arrow marking out the hidden chamber under the stairs where the Count slept.

#

When they came down to breakfast, still yawning, Lisa and the boys found the dining hall door wedged open invitingly. A very simple buffet lay out on one long table, and they helped themselves. Doreen, sitting next to a sulking Peaches, waved them over to her table, suggesting that as the only teenagers in the castle, the boys, Christopher Fisher and her daughter should be friends. Peaches rolled her eyes at this. Lisa suspected Doreen was trying to offload the child, and felt sorry for her. She told Doreen about the history lecture she had arranged to take place in the library that afternoon. Doreen told her that Peaches would certainly attend, then began to make small-talk. Sighing and groaning, Peaches injected one-word complaints -"lame!" "pathetic!" – into the conversation anytime Doreen paused for breath. Lisa was only half-listening, keeping an eye out for members of staff, but they were absent this morning.

Guests came and went, nodding genially to each other over cereal, toast, orange juice and coffee. The sheer normality of the breakfast experience might have made Lisa start to doubt their worries of the previous evening – if they hadn't had the evidence of the arm. She would never forget picking up its dead weight, and the feel of the rough hairs and cold spongy skin as she forced it back through the slot behind the shower. "Bleh," she said aloud, and pushed away her soggy cornflakes.

Their meal completed, most of the guests drifted away, eager to get the most out of their free vacations. Lisa nodded to Craig and Hayden as they left, and Craig sent back a thumbs-up sign and a none-too-subtle wink. After a final assurance from Doreen that they would remember to come to the history lecture, Lisa finally found herself alone in the dining hall. She took another glass of orange juice to justify her presence, and waited. Before long, Edgar entered, pushing an empty trolley. "Oh!" he said, when he saw Lisa. "Are you leaving thoon? Only, I have to clear up the breakfatht disheth."

"I can help you if you like," Lisa offered.

Edgar looked horrified. "Oh, no, no. It would be unthpeakable for a guetht to do our work for uth!" He looked up for a moment, then amended, "I mean, do my work for me. No, you run along and enjoy yourthelf."

"Well then," Lisa said, "I could just sit here and keep you company while you work. We could talk."

Edgar looked stricken. There were several tables to clear of dirty dishes and tablecloths, not to mention the serving bowls on the buffet. Then every table had to be polished, and the floor swept. He was expecting to share the job with Boo, Sue and Lou, just as he had when they'd set it up this morning, but they couldn't get to work in front of this woman.

Edgar was relieved when Violetta walked into the room. She looked at Edgar and said, "Get to work, Mr. Gore." Then she regarded Lisa. "The breakfast sitting is over, I suggest you return to your room and prepare for the day's activities." It did not sound like a suggestion. Reluctantly, feeling like a small child, Lisa got out of her seat. Violetta was standing near the door, ready to close it once she had departed, while Edgar was beginning to clear her table. Thinking quickly, scarcely believing her own boldness, Lisa brought her hand down on the tines of a fork, sending it somersaulting into the air. It landed on the floor between Lisa and Edgar. Edgar bent to retrieve it, at the same as Lisa pretended to do the same. As the hunchback's jacket opened, Lisa tried to slip a hand into the inside pocket, but the angle was too awkward. She couldn't grab the key.

Violetta cleared her throat loudly. "See you later," Lisa said to Edgar, and left the room. Violetta closed the door and she heard the key turn in the lock behind her.

"No luck," Lisa said once she was back in their room.

"So what are we going to do?" Hayden asked.

"We'll think of something," Craig replied. "Meanwhile, we'd better go snorkelling since we've already signed up for that. Keep your eyes and ears open, though. We might see other weird stuff."

"There's the history lecture after lunch too," Lisa reminded them. "After all the trouble to get the Count to agree to it, we'd better show up."

Lisa changed into her bathing suit in the bathroom, trying not to think what was behind the wall, while the boys changed into their swimming trunks in the bedroom. They wrapped towels around themselves, then headed downstairs. They had been told to meet the swimming instructor in the gym, where they would also get their snorkels and masks. Following signs for the gym led them across the entrance hall to the front of the castle and down a spiral staircase which curved into the basement.

From what she knew of medieval architecture, Lisa figured this massive lower room of the castle had originally been a dungeon. Now it was a gymnasium, of course, but some of the fitness equipment that lined the walls did not look dissimilar to torture equipment. Dan and Mike were each attached to one of the devices, and their grunts and groans testified to the difficulty of the workout. Like them, Norm was also pulling on chains to raise and lower huge metal weights, but he made it look effortless. In fact, he released one hand from the massive load he was supporting just to wave at the group as they passed by. Lisa stared back at him, trying to see whether he could really be made up of dead body parts. He was an odd looking man, that was true, but his skin tone was healthy, not green like the arm they had found behind the shower.

Almost in the middle of the floor, protected by a low wall, was what appeared to be an indoor swimming pool. It was circular, except for a long channel that extended out towards a door in one of the walls. Blake was standing by the pool talking to the two old ladies. Once he spotted Lisa and the boys, he opened the door in the wall, and they could see that the channel extended out of the castle all the way into the lake. Blake passed out facemasks and snorkels and they tried them on for size. Then Mrs. Meeks and Mrs. Trellis both dropped their robes, revealing brightly patterned swimming costumes, and a lot of saggy skin. Lisa, Craig and Hayden removed their towels and stood by the edge of the pool, waiting for Blake's instruction. Blake invited the elderly ladies to enter the water first, and after a modest amount of elbowing, Mrs. Trellis reached him ahead of her friend. Blake put out a hand to assist her down the stairs, prompting her to feign unsteadiness and cling to his arm. "Oh!" she simpered. "This is just like that scene from your 1956 film, Pool Party Paradise!"

"1957, I think you'll find," Mrs Meeks corrected her, following quickly behind so that she could put a hand on Blake's shoulder for support.

Blake coughed and released the two women into the pool, turning towards the rest of his group. Gingerly, Lisa climbed down the steps and into the water, expecting it to feel like ice. The lakewater was cool, however, not cold, and Lisa wondered again why Blake wore a full wetsuit complete with hood, mittens and booties. Perhaps it was just for modesty or vanity. If the old ladies were right, and he had appeared in a movie in the late 1950s, then he would have to be at least eighty. But why would a fancy resort put an eighty-year-old in charge of a snorkelling expedition?

The six of them bobbed in the water, and then the trademark grin appeared between the chin of Blake's hood and the bottom of his tinted mask. "Ok, folks. Just test your snorkels here, and then we'll be off."

Obligingly, the group put their faces into the water and practised breathing through the tube. Then Craig looked at Blake and said, "What about your snorkel?"

The grin vanished. "Oh, yeah," Blake said. "Excuse me a moment." He sprang up out of the water and reappeared with a snorkel which he rather awkwardly wedged into his mouth and tested out. "Okay," Blake said. "Follow me!"

He ducked under the water and struck out along the channel, which was about as wide as one lane of an ordinary swimming pool. The group followed. Soon they passed out through the door and into the lake. Lisa gasped at seeing the castle from this angle. It towered over them, and the scudding clouds in the blue sky behind made it seem as if it was falling forward, about to crash into the lake. Looking quickly away, she saw that the others already had their heads down, looking at the underwater sights, so Lisa joined them. The visibility was surprisingly good and Blake was able to point out various shellfish clinging to the island's rocks under the surface. He then gestured for them to follow him as he swam around to the front of the castle. Here, there were an abundance of fish, and Lisa began to enjoy herself, entirely forgetting about her lost love, and almost forgetting about their mission.

#

"Fisher by name, fisher by nature," Albert said to Christopher as the two of them sat on the pier. Christopher had heard his father's favourite witticism many times of course, but he nodded and chuckled anyway, as this was expected of him. Next his dad would go on to explain the lures to him. Again.

"You see, your jig lure, well, that's got a weighted head, so it stays in one place, and you jiggle it to get the fish's attention. Jig lure, jiggle – get it? Whereas your crankbait lure, well that has to be cast out into the lake, and then you reel it back so it seems to swim through the water. Crankbait, crank the reel – get it? Then there's the daisy chain..."

Christopher tuned his father out. He smiled and nodded, acting the good son, knowing that by playing along, sucking up and pretending to enjoy this lame family holiday he'd probably score a dirt bike at the very least.

"Alright, I think we're all set to go," Albert said. "You want to cast first, my boy?"

Christopher nodded. Actually, it wasn't so bad being out here with his dad. Fishing was fun. The best bit, he thought, was holding the flopping fish in your hands, watching it gasp for air, struggle and fight for life, getting weaker and weaker, then finally lying still, its bright eye turning milky and dull. His dad always said it was better for the taste to bop the fish on the head as soon as it was out of the water, killing it instantly. Christopher enjoyed this too. It felt good to have the power of life or death in his hands.

He grinned at his dad and cast. The lure sailed out over the lake and plunked into the water with a satisfying sploosh. He began to flick the rod back and forth as he reeled, causing the lure and its deadly hook to dance through the water.

"Good man," his father said, and then cast his own line.

Christopher had reeled almost all the way in with no nibbles, so he re-set the line and recast. Almost at once, his line went taut and then began to pull against him. He nearly lost the rod altogether. "Dad – I've got one! And it's huge!"

Albert wedged his own rod in between two boards making up the pier and came over to help his son. "Good man!" he said again. "What a chip off the old block!"

#

Blake felt the morning was going as well as could be expected. He had made a mistake by not getting a snorkel for himself, of course, and he had felt a moment of panic when he first tried to use it – as soon as he was underwater his gills had started to work and his lungs had shut down, but he now had the hang of faking it. Being in the pool with the others had made him nervous of exposure, but the woman and the boys hadn't got that close, and thankfully the old ladies seemed incapable of seeing him as anyone other than the handsome, bronzed and chiselled Blake Lagoon of their memories. It had been more than fifty years since those days, but their constant twittering was a painful reminder of all he had lost. Fame. Fortune. Babes. Still, he was eighty-five now, but fit, healthy and strong, thanks to his condition. And thanks to his changed physiology, he was a superb swimmer. It was a joy to be out in the lake sharing the underwater splendour with other people, even if they had to view it through facemasks.

Blake popped up momentarily to check on everyone's location. A pair of snorkels – his elderly fanclub – was bobbing about near the rocks, and a trio of snorkels – the woman and the two boys – was a bit further out. He nodded with satisfaction. Maybe this resort idea was going to work after all. He knew the old women at least would be putting in a favourable report with their club back in England.

Blake had been too nervous to eat breakfast, but now that he was feeling calm, he realised that his stomach was rumbling. Kicking out away from the castle, and keeping his back to the others, he spat out the snorkel and lunged after a passing minnow. It slipped down easily, so he had another. Suddenly, his eye was caught by a dazzling flash, zipping by. A squid – delicious! With another quick lunge, he took the small squid into his mouth.

The vicious barb inside the fake plastic squid tore through the inside of Blake's mouth and emerged through his cheek, hooking him. Horrified and in agony, Blake found himself being towed through the water, dragged by his cheek. He began to thrash, kicking against the motion. He had to get rid of the hook, but his mitten-covered hands were useless. In frustration he pulled off the mittens, and tried to tuck them under an armpit, but they slipped away and slowly sank into the depths. His hands finally free, he was able to painfully work the hook back through the flesh of his cheek and release himself. There was a big ragged hole left behind, and he could see blossoms of red in the water, his blood, even now attracting fish.

What he didn't see was that his violent thrashing had also attracted the younger snorkelers. Lisa had arrived first, stopping a few metres away – close enough to see two blue webbed hands, and a man seemingly breathing underwater without a snorkel, flaps in the neck of the wetsuit sucking in and out like gills.

# Chapter Nineteen

Della lay on her back, listening to the soothing sounds of a harp melody which filled the salon. Her face was smeared with honey and oil, and slices of cucumbers covered her eyes. Doreen lay beside her, covered from head to toe in strips of seaweed, and Beryl reclined in a chair, head tilted backward into the sink, her hair being covered in hot oil by Callie, who hummed along to the harp music as she worked.

Peaches slouched into the salon, dropped her backpack and flopped down into a spare chair, pouting and sighing dramatically. Doreen winced.

Callie looked up. "Oh, dear," she said, pausing the scalp massage. "Bad day?"

Peaches snorted. "This place is crap," she said. "Do you know what that stupid old man did?" She didn't wait for an answer, but began to rummage in her backpack.

Callie's stomach started to flutter. Things were going so well with the three travel agents all enjoying their treatment sessions. She didn't need this child coming in and ruining the vibe. "Why don't you tell me all about it while I give you a free facial and new hairstyle?"

Peaches stopped what she was doing and considered Callie for a moment. "Can you do my makeup?" she asked. "And dye my hair?"

"Sure thing," Callie replied. "Let me just get Beryl's hair wrapped up and pop her under the dryer... There you go, thirty minutes should be good," she said to the travel agent, pulling down a heavy plastic hood and turning on a blast of hot air. Then she turned to Peaches. "Why don't you come into the back room and look through the colour selections?" She looked at Peaches and considered the dark roots and bleach blond hair scraped back into a ponytail. "A honey blonde would look nice. Or maybe an auburn?" Peaches dragged herself into the back room and looked apathetically at the colour samples. "And maybe you can choose some makeup too," Callie added, tossing her a bulging makeup bag.

She walked through to the main room and roused Della and Doreen. "Time to get those treatments off," she said, helping them to their feet and leading them out a side door. "The showers are right through here, and then you might want some time in the steam room," she suggested, pointing out the small stone chamber. Della and Doreen giggled and thanked her. With them out of the way and Beryl safely under the loud hairdryer, eyes closed in relaxation, Callie felt a lot more confident in tackling the irritable teen. She retrieved the girl and brought her through to the salon, sitting her down in the chair furthest from Beryl.

"What is this terrible music? It sounds like something from a kid's fairy tale," Peaches demanded.

"Oh," Callie replied. The music was actually supplied by Callie's own enchanted harp, safely locked away in a closet, its sounds piped into the salon using a system of speakers rigged up by the Professor. "It's harp music," she told the girl, pointing out the large copper trumpet-shaped speakers.

Seeing them, Peaches let out a howl. "The Professor put those in, didn't he?"

"Yes, but..." Callie began, but Peaches was rummaging in her backpack again. She pulled out a tangle of wires and metal bits and tossed them onto the bench which ran along the mirrors in front of her.

"Look what he did to my ipod!" Callie had no idea what an ipod was, but during the staff introductions she had observed the girl carrying some sort of mechanical device in sleek pink plastic, wires trailing up to her ears, and figured that maybe this was what the girl meant. Callie had thought perhaps it was some sort of artificial hearing aid at the time, but now she wasn't so sure. The device on the table was still recognisable in that it was the same basic shape. Its pink plastic case, however, had been replaced by polished wood and gleaming brass. An ornate wind-up clockwork key protruded from the bottom, and from the top, two braided cord cables extended out to two speakers – copper trumpets affixed to a sort of headband. "He's ruined it!" Peaches lamented. "Course, I'll make him pay. I'll get my dad to sue him, or maybe sue the resort, or something. I'll get the cost of a new ipod..." she thought for a moment. "Plus a little something for mental anguish, I expect," she added.

"Oh dear," Callie murmured. She would have to warn Viktor about this potential headache. "Never mind that now. A lovely new hairdo and makeover will make you feel better, I'm sure."

Peaches considered Callie for a moment, staring intently at her reflection. "How do I know you're not crap too? Like the Professor?"

Callie looked at the girl in confusion. "How do you mean?"

"Well," Peaches explained, "My friend always says you can't trust a hairdresser with a bad hairdo. If a hairdresser can't look after her own hair, Keely says, how's she going to look after yours? And I've never seen your hair. You always wear that turban." Suddenly, the teenager reached up a hand and twitched at Callie's turban, trying to dislodge it. Surprised, Callie moved too slowly to prevent the elastic parting from her forehead, and two snakes sprang out. One of them launched itself at the podgy fingers, striking just above the knuckles. Peaches squealed and pulled her hand away, staring in horror and disbelief at the gorgon. "You've got snakes!"

Callie tucked the snakes away as she looked over to the hairdryer. She was pleased to see that Beryl appeared to have nodded off. This wouldn't last for long, however. As she realised exactly what had happened to her, Peaches began to get worked up, wailing at an increasing volume. Moving quickly, Callie pushed a flannel into the girl's mouth, deftly pulled her hands behind her back and tied them together with a rolled up towel. Wide-eyed, Peaches stared at her in the mirror. Callie was grateful that the salon chairs were on castors. She pushed the struggling girl out into the back room and locked the two of them inside. "Boo, Sue, Lou – this is an emergency!" she said into the air. "Tell Ankh I need an anti-venom kit, and tell Viktor I need him too!" At once, she felt three taps on her shoulder – the signal that she was heard and understood. Callie sighed. She looked over at Peaches who glared back, fuming. "Everything's going to be okay," she told the girl. Peaches kicked out and struck Callie sharply in the shin. "Ow!" Callie cried out. She glared back at the girl, and then unlocked the door and slipped back into the salon.

Beryl was just stirring. "I must have drifted off. Did I miss anything?"

"Oh, no," Callie assured her. "Just an ordinary day here. Shall we get that hair of yours clean?" She led Beryl to the sink and began to wash her hair. Ankh came rushing in at this point, medical bag in tow. Callie nodded towards the back room, and Ankh returned her nod. He stepped inside. There followed a lot of crashing and banging. Callie despaired for the pots of potions she had stored out the back. Maybe she should have secured the girl's feet.

Beryl sat up abruptly, alarmed, her wet hair dripping. "What's going on?"

"Just some construction work out the back," Callie reassured her. "Nothing to worry about." She pushed Beryl back against the sink and continued the shampooing.

Ankh emerged looking dishevelled, but he gave Callie the thumbs-up sign. Good – at least he'd managed to give Peaches a dose of anti-venom. As he left the salon, he passed Viktor entering. Callie knew that Viktor had rushed here, but he didn't look ruffled in any way. "Good morning, Miss Spitofino," he said formally, an edge of steel in his voice. He was wearing gloves and carrying a clipboard which he held to the side of his face. This was so that any guests who happened to be in the salon wouldn't notice his lack of reflection in Callie's mirrors.

Callie swallowed. "Good morning, Count Romanoff," she replied in kind. At hearing who had just entered, Beryl, knowing she looked a fright, let out a little squeak and pulled a towel over her face. "Um... that package that came for you is in the back room," Callie told Viktor.

"Indeed," Viktor replied.

#

Sue was having the time of her life – or rather, her afterlife. She pushed a trolley loaded with cleaning supplies, fresh towels and linens from room to room along the guest wing. Once Sue and the trolley were inside an empty guest room, Boo and Lou floated invisibly through the walls to join her and together they used their telekinetic powers to tidy up each room making sheets shimmy, towels tango and brooms boogie. As soon as the room was made up, they spent a few minutes having a nosey through the guests' belongings, looking at what books they read, and what underclothes they wore. In their young days the three Victorian sisters had worn camisoles, corsets, crinolines, petticoats, and voluminous bloomers. They were scandalised by the tiny lacy underthings modern women wore, and blushed and giggled when they discovered Albert Fisher's big blue Jockey Y-fronts.

As she pushed the trolley along to the next room, Ken Trepid's, Sue wondered what underwear they would find in the handsome single man's room. Absentmindedly, she reached out her thoughts and inserted the room key in the lock. She put one mental hand on the doorknob, twisted and pushed. The door creaked open. Sue got behind the trolley and rolled it forward into the bedroom, floating just above the floor behind it. The trolley slid into the room easily, but as soon as her ghostly form touched the threshold it felt as if she had smacked into a brick wall. She reeled backwards, one hand flying to her nose, surprised at the pain, the core of her body materialising as she forgot to maintain invisibility. Gathering her thoughts she concentrated on decomposing her body and then checked the corridor to make sure no one had seen her fade in and out. Thankfully, she was alone. What just happened? Sue had been a ghost for more than a hundred years, and one of the best things about being a ghost was that you no longer experience physical pain. Not unless magic was involved.

Suddenly she felt the energy of Boo and Lou swirling around her head. We can't get in, they told her. We can't get through the walls. What's going on? Frowning, Sue reached out her hands towards the open doorway, encountering an invisible blockage sealing the way. She slid her hands all over the force field, feeling like one of those terrible French street mimes who pretend to be locked in an invisible box. I wonder if Barbara or that wizard fellow has accidentally put some sort of spell on it. That would explain the problem, Sue thought. I must remember to ask them.

At that moment, the ghosts became aware of a call. Their psychic energy was attuned to respond to their names and to the word 'emergency.' "Boo, Sue, Lou – this is an emergency!" Callie was saying in the salon. "Tell Ankh I need an anti-venom kit, and tell Viktor I need him too!" There was a quick unspoken conference between the sisters and then Boo went to get Ankh and Lou to get Viktor. Sue rocketed through the walls of the castle taking a direct route to get to the salon. There, she tapped Callie twice on the shoulder to let her know that help was on its way.

#

Viktor had expected some teething troubles. It stood to reason that a group of monsters would struggle to maintain professional standards in their first attempt at running a luxury resort. However, it was only day two, and he was already putting a fourth guest in thrall – and for the fourth time, it was for a silly mistake that needn't have occurred. He should have insisted that Callie put beads over the heads of her snakes again – although he could understand her reluctance to render her powers useless once more after being held at gunpoint by Big Jim.

The problem was that the non-vampire residents of the castle didn't properly understand the thrall. They thought that all Viktor or Violetta had to do was look into someone's eyes, issue a command and the person would be permanently mesmerised. If that was the case, of course, all Viktor would have to do was enthral every guest, telling them they had enjoyed a marvellous stay at the castle and insisting that they make good reports to their clients and write good reviews in their magazines. However, the thrall didn't work like that. It had evolved merely as a tool to allow vampires to feed – to make suggestible humans compliant. It was not infallible. For the thrall to work in the long term, the human had to remain in close proximity to the enthralling vampire. Once they were back in their home countries, Beryl, Dan and Mike, and now Peaches, would all remember what had happened to them. Putting them in thrall now was merely damage limitation – preventing their complaints from reaching the ears of the other guests. It was now vital that these other guests had a good time at the resort, otherwise running this expensive trial week would be in vain.

Viktor considered the girl who was tied to the chair in front of him. She glared back defiantly. She did not look suggestible. Beryl had been easy to enthral – she just wanted to be consoled. Dan and Mike were easy too – they had wanted a rational explanation. This girl looked like she wanted revenge. Viktor stared into her eyes. "Everything in the castle is fine," he said, cautiously removing the flannel from her mouth.

"Bollocks it is!" said the girl. "That crazy lady tied me to a chair! And she has snakes under her turban."

Viktor breathed in deeply. "You are having a wonderful time here," he said slowly, holding her gaze.

"No, I'm not...I'm...she...I mean..."

"There are no snakes, no one tied you to a chair, you are enjoying yourself and everything in the castle is fine," Viktor said, calmly, untying her wrists. "Everything in the castle is fine. You are enjoying yourself. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine."

Peaches wrinkled her forehead and rubbed her wrists. "I... um," she said, looking at her hands in wonder. One finger was swollen to twice the size of the others. She held it up. "A snake bit me?"

"There are no snakes. No snake bit you. You hurt your finger by slamming it in a drawer. Everything is fine."

"My hand hurts," Peaches said.

"That's because you slammed it in a drawer. Look, Dr. Ankh left some bandages for you. Shall we bandage your hand?" Peaches nodded, and Viktor wrapped the bandage quickly around the snake-bitten finger.

"Your hand isn't hurting now," Viktor said. "Everything is fine. You like being here, and you are having a wonderful time, aren't you?"

Peaches screwed up her face in puzzlement. "I'm not... I mean... I... yes... Yes, I guess I am having a wonderful time."

# Chapter Twenty

Blake dived deep to recover his dropped mittens, worked them on over his webbed fingers and then swam back to round up the others. He kept one hand clamped firmly over the tear in his cheek as he signalled to them that it was time to come in. The wound was stinging and Blake wondered if he would need to go to Ankh for stitches. All five of his guests began to swim back to the channel leading into the castle. Suddenly, Mrs. Trellis stopped, began to thrash about and then dipped under the water. Blake waited for the old lady to pop back up, but although her blue swimming cap bobbed to the surface, there was no sign of Mrs. Trellis. Mrs. Meeks had observed her friend's disappearance and now began to shriek. "Do something! Do something!" Alarmed, Blake powered over the spot where she'd vanished. He immediately spotted her floating limp, just below the surface of the water. He scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and charged towards the castle. Now held firmly around the waist by one of Blake's muscular arms, sensing the heat of his body through the wetsuit, Mrs. Trellis felt a giddy thrill. It was all she could do not to give away her deception by sighing with delight. Emerging at the pool Blake pushed the boys aside, climbed out and laid Mrs. Trellis on the floor.

"Emergency!" he called out, seemingly into thin air. "We need Dr. Ehl Bone at once!"

Lisa, Craig, Hayden and Mrs. Meeks clambered out of the pool and stood with Blake looking down at Mrs. Trellis. "Aren't you going to do something?" Mrs. Meeks said to the swimming instructor. "She's half-drowned. She needs mouth-to-mouth!" At this, Mrs. Trellis had to work hard to prevent a smile from appearing on her supposedly unconscious face.

Blake hesitated. The staff of the castle had all received first aid training from Ankh, but Blake's knew his lungs weren't quite working yet, since he had just gotten out of the water and was still making the transition from gill-breathing. At that moment, Norm came through from the gym. "Duh..." he said.

"Norm!" Blake exclaimed, relieved to see some help. "This lady needs the kiss of life!"

"I never kissed a lady before," Norm said, but he got down on his knees, forced a breath into his long-dead putrid lungs, sealed his mouth over the woman's and puffed out.

Foul air from the diseased lungs washed over Mrs. Trellis. It was revolting, and she coughed, raised a hand, pushed Norm's face away from hers and struggled into a sitting position.

"She's okay!" Blake declared with relief.

Mrs. Meeks glared at her friend, concern turning to suspicion. "That was a remarkably fast recovery, my dear," she said.

"Oh...um, yes," Mrs. Trellis replied, blushing red. "I must have just fainted. The exertion of snorkelling I suppose. I think I should go to our bedroom and lie down." Mrs. Meeks pursed her lips and helped her friend to her feet. They donned their robes and shuffled off up the stairs into the castle, passing Ankh who, summoned by Louise, was racing down into the gymnasium.

As the two ladies were leaving, Lisa nudged Craig and Hayden and pulled them into a corner. "Look at Norm!" Lisa hissed. The big man's makeup had smeared across his face both when he had clamped his mouth on the woman's and when she had pushed him away. Streaks of green were now apparent underneath. His sweatband had also been dislodged and they could clearly see the scar where his scalp had been stitched on. "Let's get out of here before they realise what we've seen," she whispered. The others nodded, and all three began to towel off, rubbing their faces, not looking at Norm, Blake and now Ankh. Lisa began to talk loudly about the fish they had seen while snorkelling. Craig and Hayden followed her lead, and all three moved towards the stairs, still talking nonsense, but with Lisa straining to hear what the swimming instructor, fitness consultant and doctor might be discussing, casting furtive glances back towards them.

"False alarm," Blake said to Ankh. "Sorry about that."

"That's alright," Ankh replied, his beady eyes studying the aquatic man. "But what about your face? What happened to your cheek?" Then he noticed Norm. "Norm, your makeup! It's got rubbed off! Did any of the guests see you like this?" He looked sharply over at the stairs, but saw only the retreating backs of the woman and the two boys.

#

Ankh had spent a frustrating morning with Mrs. Penny Fisher. Thrilled to have the undivided attention of a free-of-charge physician, the horse-faced woman had catalogued a series of minor ailments, requesting that the doctor look at her tongue, examine her moles, measure her blood pressure and test her reflexes. As far as Ankh could tell, there was nothing wrong with the blasted woman. She had already kept him up late last night demanding he hear about her migraine symptoms. Ankh had recommended trepanning – drilling a hole in her head to release demons – but Harriet, passing by and overhearing this suggestion emphatically ruled it out. Instead, he had sent the lady to bed with a cup of willow tea. She had enthused about this remedy as soon as she had arrived in his office this morning – her headache had completely vanished! She wondered would the doctor be able to write her out a prescription for her return to England? Sighing, Ankh had obliged. Willow tea... salicylic acid... what did those quacks in England call it? Ah, yes – aspirin. Silly name. He had reached for a scroll of papyrus, uncurled it and carefully inscribed it with the image of an eagle facing left, a hook, an open door, a reed, a mouth, another reed and a pair of squiggly waves, then passed it over to his patient. She had glanced at the papyrus and shrugged – typical undecipherable doctor's writing, she had thought, as she put it into her purse.

"You see, doctor," she was saying now, "I've had this twinge in my right leg for about a week, and..."

It came as a relief when Boo tapped Ankh three times on the shoulder, indicating that he was needed. "You must excuse me," he said at once, getting to his feet and interrupting Penny's latest complaint. "I have an urgent matter to attend to."

Penny looked bewildered. "But, we're in the middle of a consultation..?"

"Oh," Ankh said, flummoxed. Why might a doctor have to run off? He thought about some of the modern medical novels Harriet had brought him from the village library. "I...er...oh yes, my pager went off. I must go... er... Stat."

"Alright," Penny said. "I'll see you later then. I know you'll want to get to the bottom of my troubles. Would it help if I brought a urine sample?"

"Oh, no! No!" Ankh said, shuddering. He ushered her quickly out of his office and once the door was closed, Boo appeared and explained about the snakebite in the salon. Ankh nodded in comprehension. Fortunately, he and Callie had worked together in preparation for just such an emergency. He had milked the venom from some of her vipers in order to develop an anti-venom treatment. He loaded a syringe with the serum, put it in his medicine bag and strode grimly next door to Callie's salon.

The bitten girl was feisty, and put up a struggle, but he finally managed to jab her in the upper arm and inject the anti-venom. Exhausted, he had returned to his office, lit his briar pipe and sat back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, thinking. He was pleased to finally have a moment to himself. Getting ready for the arrival of the guests had taken a lot of effort. He had needed to prepare a selection of medicines and order supplies, plus train the staff in first aid. There had been little time for his ongoing research into reversing the effects of mummification. Maybe now he could take a few minutes to catch up. He got off his chair and knelt down, placing his head near the floor so he could peer into a mousehole in the wall. He whistled softly and two beady red glowing eyes appeared in the gloom. The mummified mouse shuffled to the entranceway, nose twitching. Ankh put out his hand, but before the mouse could climb on, Lou appeared next to him, clearing her throat. "Another emergency, Ankh. One of the guests is in the gymnasium, by the swimming pool, apparently drowned. You're needed right away." Cursing, Ankh shooed the mouse back into its hole, climbed to his feet, and took off at a trot, heading for the dungeon. A drowned guest! This would spell disaster for the resort!

However, when Ankh reached the side of the pool, he found only Norm, his makeup smeared away, Blake with a ragged hole in his cheek and three guests standing off to one side. The guests appeared not to have noticed anything amiss, perhaps because of the excitement of the near-tragedy. Once they had left, Ankh directed both men through to Norm's room – a gloomy windowless chamber which, when the castle was built, had been the dungeon-master's lair. There, he repaired Norm's makeup and put a stitch in Blake's cheek. Finally, he returned to his office, wondering what else might be in store for him. He opened the door to the outer waiting room only to see Penny sitting in one of the low chairs. "Oh, Doctor!" she said, standing up and presenting him with a small jar of yellow liquid. "I thought you might want this after all!"

#

The chicken squatted over the bowl-shaped nest of straw, flapped its wings and strained. An egg emerged from under the chicken and plopped onto the straw, and the chicken nestled down onto it clucking approvingly. Barbara Yaga poked Amy with a bony finger, and nodded towards the nest. Amy took a deep breath and gently pushed aside the fluffy black body of the chicken as it made a low noise of protest. She wrapped her hand around the egg. It was unpleasantly warm and slightly slimy. She held it in her palm, hand outstretched to Barbara. "What colour is it?" the old woman demanded.

"White," Amy told her. "No, slightly blue."

"Which means?"

"It will be a good one for magic?"

The old lady smiled. "Yes!" Today she was dressed in a tight-fitting woollen one-piece suit of black and red stripes. It looked like a set of old fashioned long-johns. Without the ample skirts she ordinarily wore, Amy could see how bony and frail the woman truly was. One stick-like arm was now waving Amy over to the giant mortar and pestle which occupied a whole corner of the room. Amy stood on tiptoes to peek over the rim of the mortar to see what was inside the large stone bowl. It appeared to contain red soil. To this, Barbara added black pepper, chilli powder, paprika and other spices. Then she motioned Amy to step back, mumbled a few words and waved her bony arm. Amy gasped as the pestle stood up straight and began to move by itself, mashing and grinding the ingredients against the side of the mortar. Meanwhile, Barbara snatched the egg from Amy's hand and poked a hole in the end with a large needle. She gesticulated and the pestle ground to a halt, leaning back against the wall at rest. Barbara scooped up a pinch of spiced earth and sprinkled it into the egg, then carefully passed it back to Amy.

The egg jerked and jiggled on Amy's hand and she had to try hard not to drop it. Cheeping sounded from the hole, and then the sides of the egg opened up, as if on hinges, dropping to form four petals. In the middle of the egg was a small golden carousel. A sweet melody drifted into the air and it began to turn, six tiny animals sliding up and down their poles. Looking closer, Amy identified them as two hens, two roosters and two chicks. She started to giggle.

At once, two more lines vanished from Barbara Yaga's face, and thirty-seven of her grey hairs turned golden blonde.

#

Harriet pulled on a pair of riding britches, a plain brown turtle neck-pullover and a set of stout boots. As a girl she had loved riding horses, and had even worked one summer in stables in her native Scotland, mucking in and mucking out. Since her change, however, she had been unable to go near horses. Catching the scent of wild dog on her, they would whinny, roll their eyes, rear and pull away from her approach. The horses Sir Osis had brought were different, however. Like her, they were something other, and so they accepted her calmly. Sir Osis himself rode a ghost horse, she knew, and that was fine, as it was trained to move properly under his control and project its image. As long as the guests didn't touch it, they wouldn't suspect. The other horses were more problematic. Harriet had insisted to Sir Osis that he find corporeal horses for the guests, rather than ghostly ones. Unfortunately, she hadn't specified that they needed to be alive. The wily near-headless horseman had enlisted the help of a friend (or possibly fiend) first to spend the gold she had supplied to buy suitable animals, and then to raise six fallen warhorses from the dead. The zombie horses were of course unacceptable. They would have to be replaced before the next lot of guests arrived, Harriet told herself – assuming that there will be a next lot of guests. In the meantime, however, it was too late to change. She had thought about cancelling horse riding, but it had already been advertised. They would have to make do. So she had inspected the horses and selected the two which were in the best shape, informing the guests that trekking would be restricted to just two people at a time and apologising for the inconvenience. The married couple, Rachel and Phil Whitely, had booked to go out on the first day. They had been invited to the free week at the resort as they published Departure Lounge Publications, and Harriet knew that a good report in one of their guidebooks would ensure the success of the resort. It was vital that nothing go wrong, and so Harriet had decided to supervise their trek herself.

She arrived at the stables a half hour before the trek was due to start, and was alarmed to see that nothing had been done to prepare the horses. Worse still, there was a vile stench of rotting flesh lingering in the air. She had sent a case of perfume over to Sir Osis and instructed him to douse the horses with it. Why hadn't he done as he was asked? Angrily she strode into the tack room. Here, amongst the bridles, saddles and riding helmets she found the answer. The box of perfume had been smashed – trampled by a heavy horse hoof, by the looks of it. Harriet wondered why. The cloying fragrance of all the spilt scent hung in the air, but underlying it was the odour of the alcohol that made up the base of the perfume – and suddenly Harriet understood. Sir Osis must have captured the spirit of the alcohol as it was released from the bottle. "Reginald!" she hollered. "Reginald Osis!"

The ghost gradually solidified into view. He looked ghastly – his head clutched in his hands, but not actually attached to his neck. "Ooo!" he moaned. "I feel terrible!"

"I'm not surprised," Harriet said, unsympathetically. "Drinking essence of perfume! Of all the foolish things to do. You could have killed yourself! Oh well, no I suppose not, but still – look at the state of you. You're not fit to lead a trek, that's for sure." Reginald regarded her through bleary eyes and groaned. "And you haven't even prepared the horses," she admonished.

At this the ghost took exception. "Well, of course I haven't! I can't touch anything, remember? How you expected me to pour perfume on horses when I can't pick up a bottle, I don't know."

Harriet rubbed the bristles on her chin and sighed. She hadn't thought of that. "Alright," she said. "You go and lie down – or whatever it is you ghosts do to recover. I'll deal with everything." Reginald's hands nodded his head gratefully, and he faded away.

First Harriet recovered two unbroken bottles from the case of perfume. These she poured over Shadowdancer and Pyromancer, the two most intact of the zombie horses. Next, she covered them both with large blankets. This disguised the maggot-filled gash in the mare's side and the badly burnt area on the stallion's flank. She added blinders to mask the glow from their fiery-red eyes and finally secured two saddles in place. She selected the third-best looking horse for herself and was just finishing its disguise as Rachel and Phil strolled into the stable.

"Hello!" Harriet said, forcing false jollity into her voice. "Lovely day isn't it? I'll be taking you out today as our riding instructor is...uh... indisposed."

"Oh?" Rachel said. "Nothing serious I hope?"

"Oh, no, no," Harriet assured her. "Right, let's get you kitted up."

Once the guests were properly equipped, the three mounted their horses and Harriet led them out and away from the castle towards the other side of the island. The horses plodded across pastures of rich grass grazed by the castle's many sheep and one cow, past the newly created golf course, into meadows of sweet wildflowers and on up a hill towards the overgrown orchard that had not been harvested for centuries. Harriet was thrilled to be riding again after so many years, happy to be out in the beauty of nature and relieved to be enjoying a moment to herself after having worked so hard for so long. In the last few weeks the only break she had allowed herself was the three days of the full moon when she was incapable of working – and of course in those three days she had hardly been herself!

As the horses continued to plod up the slope, a rabbit suddenly bolted from a burrow and ran across their path. Instantly, the hairs on the back of Harriet's neck stood up, her pulse quickened, her mouth and nose distorted, stretching briefly out into a muzzle and her hands on the reins momentarily morphed into paws before she gained control. She squeezed her eyes shut, bit down on her lip and forced her breathing to slow. Look what happens when you relax, she rebuked herself. It's all very well being angry at Reginald, Edgar, the Professor and Swizelsticks when they make mistakes, but you very nearly just spoiled everything yourself by not concentrating on the job! It was lucky, Harriet realised, that her horse was in the lead, and so the guests had not witnessed her partial transformation. She had to be more careful.

They had reached the summit of the hill now, and Harriet stopped her horse. Rachel and Phil caught her up and also turned their horses to face back the way they had come. Then Rachel gasped. "Oh, Phil! It's breathtaking!"

Harriet had to admit that she was right. The view from the summit was spectacular. Thanks to some serious scrubbing and whitewashing by the three ghostly sisters, the stones of the castle gleamed and the sea beyond it twinkled in the sunlight.

Suddenly from behind them there came a loud snort. Startled, Harriet's horse reared up, front hooves paddling in the air. One hoof struck the flank of Rachel's horse, which whinnied and took off back down the hill at a full gallop, its rider crying out in alarm. At once Harriet's canine reflexes responded. She spurred her horse on, charging down the hill in pursuit of Rachel's. Phil watched, his jaw slack, as the older woman expertly manoeuvred her horse past his wife's, causing it to slow and stop safely. Although they were a long distance away he could see that Harriet was now checking that Rachel was okay. Phil figured that he should join them. He made a clicking sound with his tongue, and dug his heels into the sides of the horse trying to get it to move, but there was a crunch, and something felt wrong, very wrong. Bending down, Phil lifted the blanket, saw the problem, and promptly felt like vomiting. The entire right side of the horse had caved in where he had prodded it with his heel, exposing some of the animal's rotting internal organs. But that couldn't be right, he told himself. This horse didn't flinch when I nudged it. It doesn't seem to be in any pain. He steeled himself to take a second look, but before he could do so, the loud snort sounded again. He swivelled around in the saddle, and found himself staring into the eyes of an enormous black charger. It thumped the ground twice, snorted once more and then rushed at Phil. Phil clamped his knees tightly onto the saddle, ducked his head low and flung his arms around his face, preparing for the bone-crushing impact of the gigantic horse. Instead, he felt a blast of icy wind hit him, move through him and vanish into nothing. I must be going crazy, Phil decided. He whimpered, swayed back and forth and then fainted, his limp body slipping out of the saddle and falling to the ground.

Harriet, meanwhile was apologising to Rachel, and Rachel was assuring her that everything was fine. "Horses spook sometimes," she was saying. "I was a little frightened, but you handled the situation beautifully. You are an excellent horsewoman!" Harriet graciously acknowledged the compliment. "This is such a lovely place," Rachel went on. "A great range of activities – and the food is splendid! If the rest of our stay is as good, you can expect an excellent report in our Eastern European guidebook." Harriet smiled, and allowed a tiny ray of hope to blossom in her mind. "Now," said Rachel. "Where's that husband of mine?" They both looked up the hill to see Phil's horse meandering down the path, the body of its rider dragging behind, one leg in the stirrup, head bouncing in the dirt.

"Phil!" Rachel cried out.

"Oh dear," Harriet murmured, the ray of hope extinguishing like the flame of a snuffed candle.

#

Sergio lowered his binoculars, letting them hang from a strap around his neck. He wasn't worried about being seen using them – it was well know that Ken Trepid was an avid bird watcher, forever spotting spoonbills, finding finches or tracking toucans. He scratched his head briefly – the wig was itchy – then retrieved his notebook, flipping it open to record his observations. Sergio preferred to use a palmtop computer, of course, but Ken Trepid was well known as a pen and paper man. In the blank box next to the words "Harriet Fullmoon, Werewolf," he put a big check mark. That piece of information was certainly confirmed – he'd seen her partial transformation with his own eyes. Now only a few blank boxes remained to be ticked off – the gorgon, the witch and the professor. It wouldn't take long to assess the risk they posed, and then he'd be able to make his move. Under the existing list he also added a new entry, and checked it off: Ghost horse. Violetta hadn't told him about the existence of the spectral animal, so it was a good thing he was verifying the situation for himself. It wasn't worth rushing into his plan, especially considering the amount of danger involved – and, he reminded himself, putting away the notebook and rubbing his hands together – all the lovely money that was at stake.

# Chapter Twenty-One

"Castle Romanoff was constructed for Prince Vladimir Romanoff, youngest son of the Mortavian king, Dimitri Romanoff the second," Viktor began. "The young prince was uninterested in his father's political world, and sought a quiet life in a secluded area, selecting this island as his home. Construction began in 1342 and was completed in 1351. Stone was quarried on the mainland and brought over by ship, a labour-intensive process..." Lisa stole a fleeting look at the rest of the audience. She had invited Christopher Fisher to attend but he had rudely laughed in her face, so it was just Craig, Hayden and Peaches sitting with her in the library, listening to the Count. Glancing at the teenage girl now, Lisa was astonished. Peaches, who only this morning had professed her profound dislike for: a) lectures, b) history, and c) the castle, was now staring at Viktor in wrapt attention, her eyes riveted on him, lipstick-smeared mouth stretched into a wide smile.

Lisa sat through the lecture only half-listening. Ordinarily she would have loved this sort of thing, but now her mind was occupied with present day occurrences at the castle, not historical happenings. She thought over the morning's events. Norm and Blake had both been revealed as something strange and freakish – they could be crossed off the list. How many other staff members at the resort were also disguising themselves, she wondered. And what was in the kitchen? Craig suddenly nudged her and nodded towards Peaches. Lisa stole a quick look at the girl and saw that she was still sitting on the edge of her seat, gazing intently at the Count, hanging on every word. Her eyes were slightly unfocussed, a look that reminded Lisa of something. She thought hard, and finally it came to her. It was the same look she had seen in that guy Dan's eyes after Violetta had convinced him the eyeball in his drink had been an onion. Interesting.

Suddenly, Lisa became aware of the Count looking at her, so she sat up straighter and focussed on what he was saying now. It seemed the historical progression had reached the 1600s. Viktor was now talking about twin brothers who lived in the castle with their father and their female cousin. Lisa abruptly realised that the tone of Viktor's tale had changed. Whereas before he had been reeling off a list of facts – names and dates – now he was painting a picture of daily life at the castle. He spoke about the work of the servants, the hobbies of their masters, the food they ate, the music they listened to, and the dances and parties they held. Viktor's telling made it come alive – the smells, the sights and the sounds.

"Afternoon tea was an important tradition," he was saying. "Each day, the family would gather in the parlour on the second floor of the castle, and the brothers would take turns to sing folk songs, accompanied on the harpsichord by their cousin. The tea samovar, along with plates of pastries and cakes would then be delivered directly from the kitchen to the parlour by means of a dumbwaiter. The tea service itself consisted of..."

Lisa nearly rocketed out of her seat. She had to dig her fingernails into her leg to keep from yelping. Craig, sitting next to his sister and feeling her body suddenly tense, looked at her in alarm. Lisa smiled to reassure him, then settled back down to wait out the end of the lecture, while formulating her plan.

#

"A dumbwaiter!" Lisa declared triumphantly.

"What, Edgar?" Craig asked her. "I don't get it."

"Not a dumb waiter," Lisa explained patiently. "A dumbwaiter. And besides, Edgar's not dumb. He's just not very educated."

After the conclusion of the lecture the trio had raced back to their room, leaving Peaches still asking questions of the Count. Lisa and Hayden were both sitting cross-legged atop their beds while Craig paced. "Explain," he urged his sister.

"A dumbwaiter is like a little elevator for food. Old-fashioned mansions and castles used them to connect dining rooms and parlours to..."

"Kitchens!" said Hayden.

"Ta-dah!" Craig sang, launching himself onto his bed. "Lisa, that's brill!"

"Well," said Lisa. "Maybe. But Viktor only said the dumbwaiter was in the parlour in the 1600s. That doesn't mean it's still there now."

"And we don't know where the parlour is," Hayden said dejectedly. "The castle is huge – it could be anywhere."

Lisa and Craig both stared at him in disbelief, then looked at each other. "Uh, not really. I mean, it's an elevator. If it exists, it has to be directly above the kitchen. Which means somewhere near the doctor's office, I reckon."

Hayden flushed bright red. "Oh," he said, feeling stupid.

Craig changed the subject to distract him. "Wasn't it weird how the Count suddenly got interesting when he started talking about the 1600s?"

"Hmm," Lisa agreed. "I thought that was very odd too. And then the stuff that followed was quite vague – as if he was making it up. I wonder if that means anything. Oh – and weirder still – what about Peaches?"

"Yeah!" Craig agreed. "She smiled at me during lunch! And she was wearing those crazy headphones the Professor rigged up for her ipod. She told me the sound quality was amazing."

"She told me that using a key to wind up the ipod was better than plugging it in to charge the battery," Hayden added.

"She has a strange, vacant look on her face," Lisa said, thoughtfully. "I wonder if Violetta's put some sort of a spell on her, you know, like Dan and Mike? Maybe Violetta's a hypnotist?"

"Or a witch," Craig suggested. "It's an improvement, anyway," he concluded and the others had to agree.

"So, when are we going to look for this dumbwaiter?" Hayden asked, after a moment.

Lisa looked at her watch. It was four o'clock. They would be expected for dinner at seven, and then after dinner, she figured there would be little to see in the kitchen until the next morning. "How about now?" she said.

#

The castle was shaped like a capital T, with the reception area, grand entranceway and great hall – now the combination ballroom and dining room – all located in the square base of the T, and all with high ceilings extending two storeys, giving them a sense of grandeur and space.

The cross piece of the T consisted of two levels. On the ground floor the kitchen was situated on one side, and the library on the other, plus other rooms that Lisa had yet to identify. The second level of the castle was divided into two wings, split in the centre by the grand staircase. In the east wing were the guest bedrooms and the west wing contained vacant guest rooms along one side and opposite them were the public rooms – the doctor's office, the beauty salon and the day-care playroom.

Of course there was also the basement – the site of the dungeon-gymnasium and the swimming pool, plus there were six cylindrical towers extending to three levels high, and located at all the corners of the T. In the guest wing, these towers formed two round rooms at the edge of the passageway. One of them was a chapel with floor to ceiling stained glass windows and an altar, the other was a guest sitting room with comfy chairs and a selection of magazines. Lisa wondered about the other tower rooms. There were sixteen of them, by her reckoning – six on the ground floor, four more on the first floor and six atop the towers. Of course the trio had tried to investigate, sneaking around the previous evening, but had been thwarted by locked doors and "staff-only" signs.

It was a "staff-only" sign they were facing now. It was tacked to the first door along the western corridor – the one next to the beauty salon. It was hard to tell exactly which of the rooms along this side might contain the dumbwaiter, as they all sat atop the kitchen, but they couldn't very well search the doctor's office, salon or playroom in front of their occupants, so this room would do for a start. Craig and Hayden were keeping watch and hopefully masking Lisa with their bodies. Please don't be locked, Lisa thought as she reached out a hand and turned the knob. The door opened easily and Lisa ducked her head inside. Her breath caught when she spotted an antique harpsichord in one corner. Better yet, there was no one else in the room. "Come on!" she whispered to the other two.

This room looked to be a staffroom. It hadn't been tidied yet, and the remains of staff lunches were strewn about. There was a china cup containing a few scrapings of honey with a golden spoon protruding, a plate with a smear of crusted egg yolk, and an ashtray with a briar pipe. Chairs and tables were strewn about, the harpsichord took up one corner, and one wall was dominated by a massive fireplace. The only other feature of the room was a set of carved doors recessed into the wall opposite the fireplace. Opening the doors, Lisa found an alcove containing a brass winding handle and a small door set into the stone, and behind this door was an empty shaft of bricks with a cable stretching taut from up above to down below. Holding her breath, Lisa began to wind the handle, winching the cable and raising the dumbwaiter box from the floor below. Thankfully there was no giveaway squeaking noise – the mechanism was obviously in use and well oiled.

"Who's going in?" Craig whispered.

Hayden shook his head. "Not me."

Lisa frowned. "It was my idea, I'm going. Besides, I'm responsible for you two." Scarcely believing what she was doing, she started to climb into the box. It was a tight squeeze. Her knees were tucked up to her chest and her neck bent at an awkward angle. "Pull me up in ten minutes, okay? And don't forget to keep watch." Craig saluted her, and Hayden nodded, closing the inner door and plunging Lisa into darkness. There was a slight jerk, and then she felt herself being lowered. The elevator bumped to a halt at the ground level, and Lisa reached out a hand tentatively. She could feel a wooden door, a bit like the one on the floor above. She was about to give it a little push when she heard voices on the other side, and froze.

"No, no, no! I said julienned!"

"I am!"

"No, no, no, you're dicing them. You're making little cubes. I want the carrots long and thin, like matchsticks, got it?"

"Alright boss, keep your hat on."

There was some clattering and banging, and then someone began to sing. The sound of a pair of knives hitting a chopping board picked up the beat. Lisa bit her lip and pushed the door, hoping it wouldn't spring open to reveal her presence. It didn't. Through the crack, Lisa could see a sink-bench topped by a stack of dishes. A splashboard of stainless steel was affixed to the wall above the sink, and formed a rudimentary mirror, reflecting the rest of the kitchen back to her. At first she was disappointed. There appeared to be three men in the kitchen... no, four... and they were cooking. Nothing unusual about that. However, as her eyes adapted to the increased light she was able to resolve more detail. There was something strange about the men. Their skin was the wrong colour, and it looked gloopy – almost like it was made of rubber. Was this just due to imperfections in the stainless steel distorting the reflection? But, no – one of the men – the one cutting up carrots – seemed to have four arms!

"Alright fellas," said a very skinny man in a chef's hat. He was standing on the other side of the kitchen by a large wood-burning range. "That's good enough, I can take it from here. Go get some rest before your gig."

"Thanks, cat," said one of the men.

"You're alright, Skully dude," said another, slapping the very skinny man on the shoulder.

Skully! thought Lisa. This must be who Edgar was talking about – Thkully. And the other guys – they must be in the band. She watched as each of the men covered himself in coats, hats and scarves taken from a rack on one wall, and then left the kitchen.

The skinny man began to sing again – reggae instead of jazz now – and walked over towards the sink-bench. As he came closer, Lisa was able to resolve more detail. He was incredibly thin, she thought, unbelievably so, and his skin was very pale, white actually. Only, it wasn't skin, was it? It was bone. And the man wasn't a man. As she realised what she was seeing, Lisa was unable to suppress a gasp. The man was a... skeleton!

Skully froze, listening, then turned slowly towards the dumbwaiter. He pulled open the door and peered into the gloom within. To his surprise, there was an attractive woman squashed into the dumbwaiter, awkwardly filling up the whole of the interior. Skully's glass-eyes locked with the woman's momentarily before he remembered what he was supposed to do, and crashed to the ground forming just an innocent pile of bones, topped by a chef's hat.

Lisa was startled, but mildly bemused to find that she was not shocked by the sight of a living skeleton. It somehow wasn't as horrific as finding her husband in bed with her supervisor. And she'd survived that. After a moment she climbed clumsily from the dumbwaiter and stood in the kitchen, looking down at the collapsed skeleton. It didn't appear threatening in any way. In fact, before it crumpled, it had seemed scared of her. Suddenly, she heard a squeak. The dumbwaiter began to rise. Well, Craig and Hayden would be surprised to find it empty, but Lisa wasn't worried about that right now. After a moment she sat down on the floor by the bones and said, "It's alright you know. I saw you, and I know you're a living skeleton, but I don't mind. I bet your name's Skully. I heard Edgar mention you. My name's Lisa." Lisa thought she saw the glass eyeballs in the skull roll towards her, but the rest of the skeleton stayed put. "I know about all the secrets," she went on. "You know, the zombies, and the half-fish man, and the wizard... and the witch?" she guessed, not sure what Violetta was. "But I promise I won't tell anyone. I think it's neat." Still nothing. Lisa decided to change tack. "So, I guess you're making dinner, huh? It smells wonderful. Last night's meal was the best I've ever eaten. Boy I'd like to shake your hand!" She paused for a moment, trying to detect movement from the pile of bones.

"The soup wasn't too salty?" the skull said, eventually.

"Not at all!" Lisa assured him. "It was perfectly seasoned. And the dessert! Best chocolate mousse ever – so rich!"

The skeleton seemed to reach a decision. He sprang to his feet. "It's all in the ingredients," he said. "You have to use clotted cream, and only Belgian chocolate." He stuck out his hand for Lisa to shake. "Yes, I'm Skully. Pleased to meet a connoisseur!"

Lisa shook the proffered hand. It was hard and dry. She could feel thin cables and wires contracting, taking the place of muscles and tendons as Skully closed his hand. Ingenious, really. Lisa wasn't sure what to do now. She'd definitely discovered the secret of the kitchen, and boy was it a big one. Luckily, Skully took the lead. "You know, I'm happy you dropped in. Harriet or Viktor would be pretty upset if they knew you were here, but I won't tell them if you won't! The thing is, I ain't got tastebuds. And that is a big problem for a chef – especially when he's cooking for humans, am I right? So, do me a favour and taste this sauce." The skeleton dipped a wooden spoon into a saucepan and held it out to Lisa. "What do you think – needs more pepper?" Lisa took a sip of the creamy concoction and declared it perfect. "See," said Skully, "that's what I dig about cooking for humans. They understand subtlety. Nuances. Delicate flavours."

Lisa narrowed her eyes, thinking that this might be the opening she needed to winkle out more information. "So, what sorts of things did you cook before the resort opened up and the guests arrived?"

"Well, Norm charges himself with a lightning rod up on the roof whenever there's an electrical storm, and Blake catches his own fish, so they don't even need me. Neither do the sisters, since they don't eat. Same with Ankh. Viktor occasionally asks me to warm a cup of sheep's blood for him – no talent required there, and Callie survives on honey and yoghurt – again not much for me to do except keep the yoghurt culture going. She even maintains her own beehives. And Harriet of course just has a raw steak most nights – except around the full moon when she goes hunting for pheasants or rabbits."

"She goes hunting during the full moon!" Lisa exclaimed, starting. "She's a werewolf?"

Skully pushed his Velcro eyebrows into a frown. "I thought you said you knew all our secrets?" he said, suddenly suspicious.

"Oh," said Lisa. "Yes, of course. I mean most of them." She thought about what clues Skully had just revealed. "Um...Viktor is a vampire," she stated. Skully did not deny this, and Lisa felt her gut twisting in response. Viktor - a real vampire! The skeleton was still looking at her expectantly, so Lisa went on. "The doctor is a mummy," she said, taking a not-so-wild guess, and again, Skully did not disagree. "And Callie is a... oh, what do you call those things...?" She trailed off, clicking her fingers, as if trying to remember a word, hoping Skully would fall for the trick.

"A gorgon," Skully said, supplying the answer.

Cripes, thought Lisa. A snake-headed woman – like Medusa. I wonder if she can turn people to stone. She couldn't work out who the sisters were or what to ask about them, so, hoping to expand her knowledge, she decided to just ask Skully outright. "What about the other staff – Violetta, and the babysitter woman, and Edgar and the caretaker and the riding instructor?"

Skully stared at her, eyebrows still in frown mode. His jaw clicked from side to side. Lisa could tell he was thinking. Eventually he sighed, and pushed his eyebrows back into a neutral position. "Harriet would explode if she knew we were talking. But you know so much already, I don't suppose it would hurt to tell you about the others. You have to promise me you won't tell anyone else though."

Lisa nodded eagerly. "I promise."

"Alright," the skeleton said. "So, you want to know what I cooked for the others?" Lisa bit her lip, realising that Skully had misinterpreted her question. Lisa wanted to know what the others were, not what they ate. But she didn't want to push her luck, so she nodded, and Skully continued. "Well, the babysitter is Barbara – she eats eggs. Eggs, eggs, eggs, all the blasted time. She's cast some sort of spell over her chickens so that they produce ten times the normal amount. They used to be the only thing I ever cooked - poached, fried, scrambled. The rest of the staff, they're all new. Sir Osis doesn't eat – although he drinks. The Prof and the hunchback and Swizelsticks all eat human food, but they're not what I'd call gourmets. They don't appreciate what they're getting – I can slap down any old muck, and they'll shovel it up. And as for Violetta – well, she's the same as Viktor of course – although between you and me, I don't think she'll be satisfied with just the sheep's blood for very much longer." He looked at Lisa pointedly, and manually raised one eyebrow. Lisa shivered. So, Violetta was a vampire. That meant that the witch had to be Barbara – which fit with putting a spell on chickens. "Anyway," Skully said. "That's enough about the staff. They're pretty boring." He pushed himself away from the bench he had been leaning on, and picked up another spoon. "Now, I need to know if the crème brulee needs more vanilla. Do you fancy a sneak preview?"

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Sergio arranged his weapons and equipment on the bed, double-checking each piece for functionality. He was referring constantly to what he thought of as his shopping list, rearranging it as new ideas occurred to him. The order of operations was key – the process would run most smoothly if no one noticed anything was amiss. Since most of the staff were involved in ensuring dinner and entertainment ran smoothly, this would be a good time to begin laying his traps. That way, no one would be missed until midday tomorrow – and then hopefully it would be too late.

Sergio closed the word processing file on his palmtop computer and fired up the image editing software. He connected his camera's USB port to the computer and downloaded an image file, shuddering as Barbara's pointy-nosed, iron-toothed likeness filled the screen. She was certainly no oil painting. He disconnected the camera, connected the printer and was soon holding a photo of the witch. This was where he had to abandon modern technology in favour of the old ways – very old ways.

Consulting a compass, he turned to face north, then took a red silk ribbon and wound it around the photo, north to south. A black ribbon came next, wound west to east. As he tied the ends off, Sergio said aloud three times, "I bind you from doing harm to me." Next he lit a candle, and let the wax drip on the knots he had tied, sealing them. Finally, he retrieved a glass bottle from the bed, rolled up the photo and crammed it inside, plugging the top with a cork stopper and then also sealing this with wax.

He put the bottle in his rucksack, along with a trowel, and then walked down to reception where Violetta greeted him, eyebrows raised in a silent question. He nodded to her in answer, but aloud, said "Good afternoon, Miss. I was wondering if I might have dinner brought to my room this evening."

"Of course, Mr. Trepid," Violetta agreed. Sergio thanked her, informed her that he was off to do a spot of bird watching, and left the castle. He walked to the top of the horse trekking hill and into the old orchard. At the base of a gnarled lemon tree, he buried the bottle, patting the earth on top in satisfaction.

#

"Nothing? The kitchen was empty?" Craig's voice rose in incredulity.

"Nothing," Lisa confirmed, feeling bad about lying, but remembering her promise to Skully not to reveal his existence. Lisa consoled herself with the thought that it wouldn't be for long, anyway. After she'd met up with Skully another couple of times and earned his trust, she'd be able to suggest bringing the boys in on the secret.

"So why weren't you in the dumbwaiter when the ten minutes were up?" Craig asked her. "When we pulled it up empty we didn't know what to think. Anything could have happened to you."

"Well, I got out to check for the heads in the pantry, of course, but then someone came into the kitchen, and so I stayed hidden and missed the deadline."

"And there weren't any heads?" Craig asked, at the same time as Hayden said, "Who came into the kitchen?'

"It was Harriet, and no, I told you, there was nothing," she answered them. "I don't know why you keep asking me," she added, defensively.

"Well, we got caught in the staffroom by that old witch," Hayden said, and Lisa felt her chest constrict. How did they know the babysitter was a witch? She'd only just worked that out herself. Then she realised that they meant it figuratively.

"She yelled at us to get out, and threw an egg at me," Craig said, "but I ducked and it hit the harpsichord. She was really mad. So we hoped that at least you had found out something to make it all worth the effort."

Knowing what she knew about Barbara, Lisa was pleased the boys had escaped with only a telling off. She shrugged. "Sorry."

"Oh well, maybe we'll see something again tonight at dinner," Craig said. "It's nearly time anyway."

"Mmm, crème brulee for dessert tonight," Lisa said.

"How do you know?"

"I saw it in the kitchen, of course."

#

Violetta balanced the silver service on one hand and knocked on Sergio's door, resenting the fact that she was waiting on a man she despised. He opened the door, a wide, smug grin on his face, and invited her inside. "Well? Is it all go?" she asked him.

"I've bound the witch's power," he answered her, "and I've got some more work to do tonight, but yes, it's all go. I need some info from you though."

"I can't be long," she replied, looking pointedly at her delicate watch. "I'll be missed."

"Tell them Ken Trepid was asking you for information for the article he's writing. That'll keep them happy."

"Very well," Violetta said. She placed the tray down on the nightstand and then sat in one of the room's armchairs, smoothed her skirt and looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, first up, I need to know where all the players are tonight, and what their schedule of movements will be." Violetta told him as much as she knew – adding that the information was subject to change.

"And you're sure that Blake and Norm are both at dinner tonight? Blake wasn't there yesterday."

"He's there. Those two old biddies insisted, and he couldn't get out of it."

"Good. Right, what I need from you is to ensure they stay there for the next hour. Then, when they do go to leave, make sure Norm leaves no sooner than ten minutes after Blake. Got it? Also I don't want people wandering around in the corridors." Violetta nodded. Plus, I need you to let me into the Count's chamber in the early morning, once he's asleep."

Violetta smiled. "Shouldn't be a problem. He's only sleeping from 4am to 5am these days. We both are, and it plays havoc with our body clocks," she added.

"Well, it's only going to get worse for him once he's delivered, sweetheart," Sergio assured her. "Now, give me your keys, before I forget, and remind me one more time about Viktor's private security system. I wouldn't want to overlook anything."

#

The wetsuit was a bad idea, Blake thought, not for the first time. Sure, it was a great disguise when he was out in the water, but here in the dining hall it made no sense for him to be wearing it. He looked out of place. Not that Mrs. Trellis or Mrs. Meeks seemed to care what he looked like. For them, he would always be a youthful tanned and chiselled Hollywood hunk. They were sat opposite him now, twittering on about his various films. It was depressing to be reminded about the good old days. He tolerated their attention as long as he was able, and then made his excuses and stood up to leave.

Seeing him move towards the door, Norm also pushed himself away from his table – or rather sent his table rocketing away from him, upsetting several drinks. "Duh...hold on, Blake," he said. "I'll come with you." Norm was again suffering the attentions of Dan and Mike as they relived every shot of that afternoon's golf match. Norm had played with them and had got the highest score – and yet Mike was claiming that he had won – even though his score was lower than Norm's and Dan's! Norm thought it all very unfair, but knew he shouldn't be arguing with the guests.

Immediately, Violetta appeared at the table. "Norm," she said. "You'll have to go get new drinks for everyone. And then I want to talk to you about something." She looked at Blake. "You go on ahead – we may be some time."

Blake shrugged and left the room as planned. He was itching to climb out of the clingy wetsuit and take a naked swim in the lake in the moonlight. As the door to the spiral staircase closed behind him, he began to wriggle out of his mittens, peel off his hood and unzip the wetsuit jacket. When he reached the pool, he took off the pants too, and plunged in, carrying the wetsuit. After a minute, his breathing had adjusted from lungs to gills, and he began to feel more comfortable. Ignoring the channel out to the lake which had been provided for the guests, he dived deep down into the pool and swam out through a secret side tunnel, heading for his underwater bedroom chamber, where he would hang up his wetsuit before heading out for a swim. As he entered the rocky cave that he called home, Blake unknowingly triggered a motion detector. The detector tripped a switch which released a burst of compressed air, firing a fishing net into the centre of the chamber. At once, Blake was caught up, hands and feet, knees and elbows entangled. It took a moment for him to realise what had happened, and then he was bewildered. He was caught in a strong commercial fishing net – the type used for catching large sharks in the ocean. He didn't know of any village fisherman who used anything this sturdy in the local lake. And even if it did come from the lake, it seemed a massive co-incidence that it should have drifted along the tunnel and into his chamber. No, Blake thought, I smell something fishy – and he wasn't referring to the previous contents of the net. After a moment, his suspicions were confirmed. A man appeared at the entrance to the chamber, a small oxygen tank on his back, mask and regulator attached to his face, obscuring his features. Blake struggled violently in the net, but it was no use – he was well tangled. The man nodded in satisfaction and swam away. Who was he? If it was a guest, then it had to be Dan, Mike, Phil or Ken as Albert Fisher was much fatter than the man Blake had just seen. But maybe it wasn't a guest, he thought. Maybe it was an intruder – someone hired by Trevor Romanoff? But they had a deal with Trevor. Could it be Hugo Dixon, or Big Jim, bent on revenge, Blake wondered. Does this mean my friends are in danger too?

#

Norm finally managed to get away from Violetta. She had asked him to help her move some supplies from one storeroom to another. Norm didn't see the point, but he knew Violetta was smart, and he wasn't, so he did what he was told. But then, when he was finished, she changed her mind and had him move all the boxes back! What a waste of time. At last, when he was finished, and about to leave, she suddenly started questioning him about personal training, saying she wanted to lose some weight and develop some muscles. Norm looked her up and down. She was in perfect shape, and as a vampire, already extremely strong, but she seemed insistent, so he gave her what advice he could. "Da... lift heavy things... get strong..." She nodded as if this was sage wisdom, and then asked him some more questions. Finally, he had been allowed to leave. He trudged his way down the spiral staircase, hoping Blake had waited up for him, but his friend was not in the pool, so Norm figured he must have already gone out for a swim. He decided to have an early night, but as he crossed the gymnasium, he noticed one of the heavy iron balls had come loose from a weights machine and rolled into the middle of the floor. He scooped the weight up easily, and went to fix the problem. Lying down on the bench-press machine, he pulled out the pin that should have been holding the iron ball in place, and re-secured the wayward weight. Suddenly, with an almighty ping, a tight metal cable went flying, bringing down a second weight which smacked into Norm's forehead. At once, other cables began to snap and whip through the air, twisting and looping themselves around Norm's feet and wrists as he lay woozily on the bench-press, arms and legs splayed out. Weights began dropping, pulling his feet and hands to the ground. Another cable snagged him around the throat and one around the waist. Confused by what was happening, he turned his head to the side, and saw all of his exercise machines seemingly transforming themselves, turning on him, all of their weights shooting across to further encumber him. Norm knew he wasn't too bright, but he was sure he hadn't made this many mistakes in redesigning the dungeon equipment into weights machines. After all, he'd used them just fine with Dan and Mike that morning. Could someone have rearranged them into a trap? But who would do such a thing? Suddenly it occurred to him. The Professor! Yes – he was right. Someone was emerging from the shadows, chuckling softly. But, no – even from his awkward position and dizzy with concussion, Norm could see this man was not long and thin and lanky like the Professor. He looked a bit like that Ken Trepid guy – only without the hair. Norm struggled against his burden, but with every weight in the gym overloading him, he couldn't move. The man approached Norm, reached into his track suit pocket and removed the key to the dungeon. Then he stuffed a cloth into Norm's mouth, and finally unfolded a huge tarpaulin and threw it over the whole scene.

#

As he had been instructed, Reginald Osis pretended to walk all the way from the castle to the stables, just in case anyone was watching him. Once he was inside, he was free to dissipate if he chose, and he was looking forward to it. Maintaining solid form and carrying on conversations with humans was difficult. If only he had a little refreshment, he had told Harriet, then social interaction would be a lot easier for him. She had rudely snorted at this and then pointedly reminded Swizelsticks to keep an eye on the alcohol when Osis was around. However, she had also delivered some good news. Due to Phil's accident that morning, all riding had been cancelled until new, live horses could be brought to the castle to replace the zombie horses. This meant that Osis would not have to do any work at all, yet could stay here for free. If only I could have a drink to celebrate, he thought wistfully.

When he walked into the tack-room, therefore, it was with some surprise that he saw his prayers had been answered. A whiskey bottle was hanging from the ceiling right in front of his face. So delighted was he, that he reached out a hand to grab it. His hand passed through the bottle, of course, and he groaned in frustration. How could he get it to smash? Maybe ram it with one of the zombie horses? But that would not be easy to achieve with voice commands alone – at least, not as easy as getting one of them to smash the box of perfume had been. This was frustrating. He wanted the whiskey now! Suddenly, as if reading his mind, the bottle plummeted to the ground and smashed on the concrete. Astonished, Osis only just managed to grab the essence of the whiskey as it floated away. Buoyed by this piece of luck, he moved further into the tack-room to enjoy this treat, and was gobsmacked to see more whiskey bottles all dangling from strings. He counted twenty-nine more. Curious now, he tracked the strings up to the ceiling. Each was attached to a pulley system, connected to a ratchet that was moving the whole chain of them slowly towards a knife. It was this knife that had cut the first string, and the string attached to the second bottle was now moving slowly towards it as well. Osis watched in fascination as it inched closer. After half an hour, he had just polished off the essence of the first bottle when the second one fell. What perfect timing! And still twenty eight bottles to go – or fourteen more hours of bliss. Osis caught the essence of bottle number two and raised a toast to the mysterious benefactor who had arranged this treat for him. In the shadows of the stable, Sergio murmured, "You're welcome."

#

Being required to make small talk with the guests was infuriating in some ways, the Professor thought, especially as he had other things he would rather be doing. But in other ways it was gratifying. It served to reconfirm how vastly superior was his own intellect. He didn't bother to turn on the light in his bedroom as he wriggled out of his overalls and into a long nightshirt. He crammed a nightcap over his wispy hair, pulled back the covers and slipped in between the sheets.

"Hold it right there, Pops," he heard from the darkness, accompanied by the sinister sound of a safety catch being released from a revolver.

He peered into the gloom. Someone was emerging from his wardrobe! "Who's there?" he asked, as he slid one hand under the pillow and worked it towards a panic button on the headboard.

"That won't do you any good, Pops. I unhooked your little booby trap – and in fact I've used the parts to make a treat for the resort's cranially-challenged ghost – I'm sure you won't mind."

"What do you want?" the Professor demanded. The man came towards the bed, deftly grabbed the Professor's wrists and bound them with duct tape. Then he secured his ankles. Astonishingly, the Professor recognised him as one of the guests.

"I've already found it," the man replied, removing a smoothly polished stone from his pocket. In the heat of his hand, it began to glow. "My sources tell me this little baby has already allowed you and that hunchback fellow to halt the aging process for over two hundred years. Well, I thought, I gotta get me some of that! Pity you'll start piling on the years now, but it can't be helped. Now, since you're a human, you're no use to me, so just lie there like a good boy, and someone will come and release you in a day or so. Maybe."

"You won't get away with..." the Professor began, but a strip of duct tape over the lips soon muffled his protests.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

Apart from continued out-of-character enthusiasm from Peaches, nothing unusual happened during dinner. Lisa kept conversation off the topic of the castle's residents, engaging the others at her table in a discussion about Roman politics instead. By the time the crème brulee pots were empty, Lisa suggested a game of cards in the guest sitting room, and Craig and Hayden readily agreed – all thoughts of further investigating the castle forgotten for the moment. At eleven o'clock, Lisa began to make yawning noises, and Craig and Hayden, their bellies full, were soon yawning too. The three of them agreed to call it a night. Lisa went into the bathroom to change. It was a pain to have to get undressed and put on her pyjamas, but necessary if her roommates were not to suspect anything. She lay in the dark for about twenty minutes listening to their breathing slow and even out. Finally, she got out of bed, bunched up the covers to make it look as if she was still there, quickly dressed and crossed the room. Craig stirred, which forced Lisa to freeze, holding her breath, but eventually she made it out of the door. It was just a few minutes until midnight, and she could hear the band winding down with a slow song.

She slipped down the stairs, along past the kitchen and down the western corridor. Skully's bedroom was at the end, in the tower on the left. She knocked on the door and the skeleton opened up straight away. "Lisa, my fine lady! Come in!" Lisa wasn't sure how she had expected the skeleton's room to be decorated, but somehow she wasn't expecting posters to cover every inch of the curved stone walls. Predominantly red, green and yellow, and advertising either reggae legends or Mardi Gras in New Orleans, they looked incongruous next to the medieval stained glass windows, but they provided Lisa with something to talk about. Prompted by her questioning, Skully gave Lisa a quick rundown of his life and death. He had been born Dexter Skullen, in New Orleans in 1946, the son of a saxophone player. Growing up, young Dexter had witnessed the change in jazz from sophisticated swing to beatnik bebop. He liked both, but as a teenager had discovered reggae, and loved this music even more. He'd become an apprentice chef at age sixteen, and had worked under some of the top Cajun and Creole cooks the country had ever seen. Then one day, when he was twenty-three, two rival gangs had started a fight in his restaurant, and Dexter had come out to see what the commotion was. Well, he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that was the last he had known – until three years later, when his aunty, a voodoo priestess, had exhumed his bones from their not-so-final resting place and brought them back to life. It had been a hard transition, Skully told her, from flesh-and-bone-person to just bone-person. Although the life-force in his bones allowed them to move, without joints they wouldn't hold together and without muscles and tendons he couldn't pick anything up. Luckily, his aunt was dating a mechanic, who helped Skully develop his first set of cables to link his bones. "Over the years these have been refined," Skully said, "and now before you, you see perfection personified. Except for the tastebuds," he added, pulling his eyebrows down. "Hey, do me a favour and taste these truffles." Lisa took one of the flaky chocolates. It was divine, and she told Skully so. "So, what's your story, my lady?" the skeleton asked her.

So Lisa told him about her life in England, about her marriage, her husband's betrayal, her failed studies, and her failing business venture. "Sounds harsh," Skully said.

Lisa shrugged. "I guess it's all relative. It's not so bad really. I mean, compared to being killed in a gang fight... So what happened after? You couldn't go out in public could you?"

"Nah. I lived in the back of Aunty's house, did her cooking for her, but then she split with her boyfriend, got a new fella, and when he found out about me he went ballistic. I took off, and went travelling for a while. But I had to disguise myself, or stay hidden, and after a few years, I got sick of it. I was always getting spotted and chased by some gang of rednecks hell bent on smashing me to smithereens, even though I'd never hurt them. I went back to Aunty's but she'd died. Eventually, I was wandering around Europe and I found out about Viktor. This castle – it's like a sanctuary. Everyone at the castle, they're running from something. Usually an angry mob. We all found peace here."

Lisa thought for a moment. "So, why turn it into a resort? If you're after peace and quiet, why invite guests like the Fishers?"

Skully rolled his glass eyes and grunted. "That man! He infuriates me! Although..." he motioned Lisa in closer, as if he was about to impart a great secret, "I've been mixing mouse droppings into his meals!"

Lisa laughed. "So, why a resort?" she persisted. Skully went on to explain about having to rent the castle from Trevor Romanoff and their need for success. Lisa assured him that she would encourage the other guests to make excellent reports of their stay.

"That's a start," Skully said.

"So, you said it was a sanctuary..." Lisa said. "What's everyone else's story?"

"I shouldn't gossip," Skully began, and then proceeded to do so. Lisa learned the history of every resident of the castle. She was alarmed when she heard about the existence of the three elderly ghost sisters. She wondered how often they had been in her presence, unknown to her, possibly spying on her. It didn't bear thinking about. Then she remembered about the vase of flowers that mysteriously fell over when she was trying to look through the keyhole of the kitchen. Suddenly she understood why.

They had been talking for about an hour when a knock at the door made Lisa nearly jump out of her skin. "Should I hide?" she asked Skully.

"Nah! That'll be the boys. They'd love to meet you!" He opened the door, and the band walked in. Skully introduced them, and they variously bowed to Lisa, kissed her hand with rubbery lips, or wolf-shistled. Duke Skellington looked similar to Skully, but with a toupee and dapper moustache. Chuck "Spider" Webb was also similar, but with an extra set of arms. Djangled Brinehart Lisa recognised as the ferry captain – due to his pirate hook and peg leg. Without the yellow slicker his melted skin was quite revolting to behold, but not nearly as distressing as Fester Young's boil and pustule covered flesh. Lisa tried not to gag as Fester murmured an apology. The band had brought instruments with them, and soon a jam session began, with Skully singing raucously along. What with all the joking, laughing and messing about, Lisa didn't leave Skully's bedroom until three. As she mounted the stairs, she realised with wonder that the pain of Rod's betrayal had completely vanished. She cautiously opened the door to find the bedroom blazing with light, the covers on her bed pulled back and Craig and Hayden staring accusingly at her. "So, where have you been, then?" Craig asked her.

#

"Only Viktor and Harriet know how to access his private chamber," Violetta explained. "And me, of course, since this was once my home."

"And will be again," Sergio smiled.

"Yes, well – you'd better be certain of your plan. If something goes wrong, Viktor will be able to work out very easily who betrayed him. My position here will be compromised."

"Relax. Nothing's going to go wrong. You said Viktor, Harriet and the three sisters were occupied elsewhere."

Violetta nodded. "And the sisters wouldn't dare enter without his permission anyway." She led the way under the stairs. She put her hands in two grooves in the stonework and murmured an incantation. At once, the marble flagstone on which they were standing began to drop. Startled, Sergio clutched at Violetta's arm, and was annoyed to see her smirk. She might have warned me, he thought, releasing her arm and brushing imaginary lint off of his clothing. The elevator stopped a floor down. They were now on the same level as the dungeon, but behind its thick stone walls. It amused Sergio to think that Norm was only metres away, no doubt still fighting his bonds.

"I'll send the elevator back down at five, as we agreed," Violetta said.

"You could just show me how to summon it from here," Sergio replied. He was trying not to show his nervousness. This part of the plan was out of his control, and Sergio hated that. He had to trust this woman – this vampiress, to let him out of the chamber once he'd secured Viktor. How could he know this wasn't all an elaborate trap? Maybe she'd set him up all along for a double cross. There were plenty of members of the supernatural community, as they called themselves, or monsters, as Sergio thought them, who would love to get their hands on him.

"I'm putting everything on the line here," Violetta replied, knowing full well what he was thinking. "So you can too. Call it a gesture of good faith..." She gave him a sarcastic little wave as she and the elevator slid back out of sight, plunging the room into darkness. Sergio quickly got out his torch, and swept it about the room. It was decorated like every other vampire lair he had visited – black wrought ironwork, candelabras, leather armchairs, swathes of red fabric. He had hoped Viktor would have more imagination. Why did all vampires choose red? Maybe it was because of the blood. But then, Sergio's favourite food was mashed potatoes, and he didn't feel the need to decorate his rooms in off-white.

Sergio swept the torch further, and found the coffin. It was an ordinary mahogany affair with standard brass handles. He'd seen hundreds of them. He checked his watch. It wouldn't be too long before Viktor came to bed, judging by past form. Sergio prepared himself, setting a spell of concealment. He had soaked in holy water too, and was wearing silver jewellery. Plus, inside his jacket pocket was a stake – just in case everything went wrong. Now all he had to do was wait. He began to meditate, slowing his breathing and concentrating. Speed would be important – he couldn't give Viktor any warning, or the vampire would simply turn to mist. Of course, he had a backup plan for if that happened, but it would be harder to implement.

In the end, however, everything worked out just fine. Viktor arrived on the elevator and went straight into his coffin for his one hour of much-needed rest. Sergio made his move almost as soon as the coffin lid closed. Using two small explosive charges to fire cables of silver thread, Sergio soon had the coffin encircled by the precious metal. Viktor was contained.

#

"Have you seen Norm or Blake this morning?" Harriet asked Violetta.

Violetta looked over the reception counter at her. "Norm said that some of his weights equipment malfunctioned last night. He's repairing it now. Blake's helping him, since no one's booked any swimming or snorkelling this morning. They've locked the dun... I mean, gymnasium, so that no one disturbs them."

"Oh, well, I'll leave them to it," Harriet replied. "Shame though, with riding cancelled too. I hope the guests have enough to do."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Violetta assured her.

To Violetta's relief, Harriet moved on. Good, she thought. This is going well. Except now she saw Edgar on his way over, looking agitated. "What?" she snapped.

"Oh... I wondered if you'd theen the Professor. He wanted my help with a project thith morning, but the cottage is all locked up and he'th not anthering the door."

"Shouldn't you be clearing up the breakfast dishes rather than working on the Professor's pet projects? It's what you're employed to do."

"We've already done it," Edgar assured her. "Oh well, I will have to keep looking for him then." He turned away.

"No, wait. I remember now," Violetta said, putting a hand on the little man's arm to stop him. "The Professor said he wasn't feeling well. He's not going to do any work today. So, you probably shouldn't disturb him."

Edgar frowned. "But that doethn't make any thenthe. His philothopher'th thtone hath kept both of uth in perfect health for over two hundred yearth!"

Violetta groaned inwardly. A philosopher's stone! She had told Sergio that Edgar would be no threat – that, along with the ineffectual wizard, he could be left alone. Now though, it seemed the hunchback could ruin everything. If he found the Professor tied up... She thought fast. There was nothing she could do to Edgar right now, without risking Harriet or one of the other still-free staff seeing. But Sergio...

"Well, before you go and check on the Professor, I need you to do a bellhop job. I've just recorded an urgent message for Mr. Trepid. I need you to take it to him, and then wait for a reply. Here, I'll write the message down."

Quickly, she wrote a note, pushed it into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to Edgar. "Do a good job now," she told him, "And he might give you a reward."

Eagerly, Edgar took the missive and skipped up the stairs. He stood outside Ken Trepid's door, smoothed down his jacket and knocked. "Just a moment," came a call from inside, and then the door opened. Ken's hair looked a bit disarrayed, but Edgar knew it wouldn't be professional to stare. He thrust out the envelope and saluted sharply. Ken took the envelope, opened it, and read the message inside. "Well, well," he said, smiling broadly at Edgar. "Thank you for this. Oh, and I've got something for your trouble. Do come inside for a moment." Ken spread his arms open invitingly, and Edgar scuttled inside the room. My first tip! I wonder what I'll get, Edgar thought. An English pound? A Mortavian thovereign? Maybe a thigned copy of Ken''th newetht book?

The last thing he would have guessed would be a gun in the face and duct tape around the wrists and mouth, but that is what he got.

#

Sergio hummed to himself as he assembled the equipment vital to the next stage of his plan. Humming relaxed him – and it helped muffle the banging coming from his wardrobe as the hunchback struggled in vain to escape. Each of the three collapsible boxes Sergio had bought from the old gypsy woman was a work of art. They were composed of mirrors on the inside and iron etched with incantations on the outside. He unrolled three tiny scrolls of paper and read the calligraphy he had paid a Belgian monk to inscribe upon them in gold leaf: Boudica Amelie Desmarais, Louise Mathilde Desmarais, Suzanna Corine Desmarais. It had taken days of research in a small French village to find their dusty death certificates and learn their true names, but the effort would all soon be paid off in full.

He checked his watch. Violetta would be sending up the first one soon. He was anxious to get on with it. Since the sisters had access to everywhere in the castle and grounds, he needed to get them out of the way next, otherwise they would notice his activities. It had been fortunate that they were such old fashioned ladies and didn't ever go into the dungeon, the stables or the Professor's workshops, all of which they considered masculine preserves, so his activities thus far had escaped their notice.

Sure enough, there came a knock on the door. Sergio flicked his lighter on, set fire to the slip of paper reading "Boudica Amelie Desmarais," and dropped it into the mirrored iron box. He brushed a small gap in the iron filings at the door, and then opened it. "I brought the towels you asked for, I'll leave them outside the door..." Boudica began, but then her eyes widened and she began to lose control over her body, beginning at her feet. Her essence was sucked through the gap in the iron filings, into the bedroom, and into the box, extinguishing the flaming paper. Sergio slammed the lid down and fastened the lock.

"Gotcha!" he said. One down, two to go.

#

How vain men could be, thought Callie. Her travel agents were perfectly happy to be seen in front of each other wearing green facemasks, or having their legs waxed, or any number of other undignified things. But this Ken Trepid fellow had insisted he be the only client in her studio that morning, and so she had agreed, putting off other bookings to the afternoon. I bet he has his hair dyed, Callie thought, and he doesn't want anyone to know. He'll want his roots tinted, that'll be what the big deal is. How conceited!

Sure enough, when Ken arrived, he was wearing mirrored sunglasses and a stylish leather jacket. What a poser, thought Callie. Who wears sunglasses inside? "So," she smiled, once the door was closed behind him. "What will it be today? Some blonde highlights? A treatment, perhaps?"

"Sorry, Ma'am, but you're the one getting the treatment," he replied, pulling a gun on her. She blinked and stared down the barrel, finding this impossible to believe. At once, memories of Big Jim came rushing into her mind. Was this guy connected to that thug? It seemed likely. Well, she wouldn't be caught out this time. Under the turban, her snakes were writhing, feeding on her emotions, ready to go to work. And this time they weren't wearing those stupid beads.

"Take it easy," she said. "I'm just going to put my hands up, see?" She began to slowly raise her hands, then suddenly yanked off the turban and glared at the man. Her snakes sprang out to full extension, hissing and glowering.

But something was wrong. The man was not turning to stone. In fact, he yawned, and said sarcastically, "Nice hairdo. Now put the turban back on."

"B...but..." Callie protested. Sergio tapped the mirrored sunglasses, and suddenly she understood. She saw the dismay on her face reflected in their lenses, as she slowly did what he asked. Soon, she was bound hand, foot and mouth in duct tape, with several strips also over the top of her turbaned head to keep the snakes under control. Sergio pushed her into a chair, taped her legs to the frame, threw a hairdressing cape over her, stuck an open magazine on her lap and lowered the hood of a hairdryer over her head. He stood back and admired his handiwork. Anyone looking in would just see a client having her hair done.

Now Sergio slipped next door to the doctor's waiting room. A sign instructed him to knock on the door to the office to let Dr. Ehl Bone know he was there, so he did so. Almost at once, the door opened, Ankh popped his head out, and exclaimed, "Oh! Another patient?" He seemed surprisingly eager.

"That's right, doc," Sergio replied.

"Excellent, excellent. I'll be right with you." After a few minutes, the door opened again and the doctor ushered Penny Fisher out. The woman was clutching an assortment of bottles.

She grimaced peevishly at Sergio, then turned back to the doctor. "I'll check in with you tomorrow, then, Doctor, to let you know whether the medicines have worked."

Ankh sighed. "Yes, yes. Now, Mr. Trepid, do come in. How can I help you? Not a case of traveller's belly I hope? Or a tropical disease as yet un-diagnosed?"

Sergio smiled and sat down. "No, nothing like that. It's not so much a case of how you can help me, as how I can help you. You see, as a travel writer I move around a great deal, see many interesting and mysterious things, and meet some wonderful people. Well, last year, I was in Egypt, and I met a truly remarkable man. He claimed to have lived some 3000 years ago..." At this, Ankh gasped, and sat up straighter. Sergio went on. "He died all those millennia ago, was mummified, and then, only ten years ago, was brought back to life. Fully brought back to life, Doctor, his skin as healthy as mine, eyes bright, no bandages required." Ankh now picked up his pipe and began to turn it over and over in his hands, agitated. "This man told me that he knew the secret of eternal life. I scoffed, of course. Who wouldn't? But he took me to the market, and let me buy a mummified cat – any cat I chose – let me inspect it, and then he worked his magic, right in front of me. For a whole day, I watched that cat, as it transformed, filling out and gaining life. And then we took off the bandages. Well, it had fur, and skin, and green eyes – and claws! It scratched my hands and took off into the night – but it was a real, live cat."

Ankh found it hard to speak, he was so choked up. "Why are you telling me this?" he managed to ask.

"Well, Doctor, I think you know that. As I say, I've travelled, I've seen things. And I know what you are. Oh, don't worry – your secret's safe with me. I won't tell your employers here at the resort. But tell me – don't you feel your talents are wasted here? Wouldn't it be better to work in a hospital? Wouldn't you like to be cured?"

Ankh nodded dumbly. He was so grateful, he didn't even think to ask why Ken Trepid was offering to help him. Ken explained the process. It all seemed ridiculously simple, and so Ankh readily agreed. Soon, he was lying on his examination table, a bunch of herbs stuffed into his mouth and coins over his eyes, being wrapped in a second set of bandages, in order to completely remove his senses, as well as bind his hands to his sides and his legs together. The magic, Ken had explained, would only work if he was completely helpless – unable even to mutter a curse. So it was that Ankh was left on the table, blind and deaf – unable to hear Sergio's final word to him: "Sucker!"

As he left the room, securing a "Do not disturb" sign on the door, Sergio checked his watch. It was nearly time for lunch. The band members who helped out with food preparation would have finished by now, so he had time to deal with them and the zombie chanteuse before he ate. Excellent. Then, immediately after lunch, the skeleton chef would be for the chop. Sergio whistled as he returned to his room to collect a fresh roll of duct tape, and a pair of wire-cutters.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

"I said I was sorry," Lisa hissed to the others as she sat down at their table at lunchtime. "And I promised I would ask if you could meet him. So get over it already." Craig and Hayden had been ignoring her all morning, going out for a walk around the island without inviting her, and then sitting by themselves in the dining hall, punishing her for having kept Skully a secret. "People will start to wonder what's going on if you won't talk to me," Lisa pointed out.

Craig snorted. "People are too busy talking about a crazy story Peaches is telling."

"Oh?" said Lisa, as Harriet laid a plate of food in front of her. "What's the story?"

"She's back to her usual grumpy self, and now she's talking about a snake biting her, and being tied to a chair and hypnotised. She won't stop complaining and she wants to leave, and her mum's really cross with her."

Lisa noticed that Harriet stiffened, and was pretty sure she knew why. "Peaches is just an attention-seeker," she said, loud enough for Harriet to hear as she moved away. Lisa wondered why Harriet was serving along with Swizelsticks and Violetta, instead of Edgar.

"So, when can we meet him?" Craig asked.

Lisa thought for a moment, then got out a notebook and pen out of her bag. She tore out a page and wrote a note, then waved down Swizelsticks. "Can you give this to the chef, please? It's just a note to say how great the food is." Swizelsticks beamed at her and took the note, heading straight for the kitchen.

"There," said Lisa. "Satisfied?"

#

Harriet bustled from table to table, mind churning. Why had the thrall worn off Peaches? And where were all her staff members? She didn't actually require them to come to lunch, but it would be nice if some of them had put in an appearance. Especially Edgar, since waiting tables was his job. Violetta had said that he was unwell, but he had seemed fine when Harriet had seen him earlier that morning. "Here you go," she said, setting down Peaches, Doreen and Della's meals. "Oh, is Beryl not with you?"

"No," Della said. "She's having a lie down. This morning she suddenly started going on and on about dead arms in the shower. I reckon she's had a nightmare that's just come back to her. It happens sometimes, doesn't it?"

Harriet nodded weakly. Another thrall undone – what was going on? She hastened over to Dan and Mike's table, and quizzed the two men. "I was just wondering – as our bartender is new – how's he doing? Have your drinks been satisfactory?"

Dan nodded. "Oh, yes, they've been great."

"Good, good," Harriet murmured, moving away. So, Violetta's thrall was holding, but not Viktor's. She'd have to ask him what the problem was, once the lunch rush was over. Come to think of it, where was Viktor?

Violetta came through the door at that moment, carrying two plates for the old ladies, so Harriet asked her. "Oh yes," Violetta said. "I forgot! He asked me to tell you he would be working on the finances all day. He'll catch up with you this evening."

"Oh," said Harriet. "Is that the last of the meals?"

Violetta nodded. "The kitchen is clear," she said loudly, "and chef's gone to his room for a break before the dinner rush."

Ken Trepid suddenly stood up and pushed away his half-eaten meal. "Excuse me, ladies," he said as he passed them. "Lunch was superb as always. My compliments to the chef."

Harriet breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't much care for waiting tables. At least she hadn't had to serve the staff too. She supposed she should be grateful to all of them for working so hard. Especially Norm and Blake down in the dungeon. Violetta had said they didn't want to be disturbed, but it wouldn't hurt to just pop down and give them a word of encouragement. Humming to herself, Harriet unlocked the door to the spiral staircase and descended, calling out to the boys. There was no reply, and when she reached the gymnasium, she saw the weights equipment covered by a tarpaulin. But where were Norm and Blake? Frowning, she started to turn away, when a horrible moan froze her in her tracks and caused hairs to sprout on her neck and forearms. The moan was coming from under the tarpaulin. Harriet whipped it away, and was confused at what she saw. Somehow, Norm had caused the weights to fall, entangling himself in their cables. "Norm!" she exclaimed. "What happened?"

Again, he moaned, and she realised that there was cloth in his mouth. She pulled it out and he spluttered, "It was a man. He's trapped me!"

"Oh, dear Lord!" Harriet exclaimed, thinking at once of Big Jim and Hugo Dixon. "Did you recognise him?"

"Sort of," Norm said, thinking again of Ken Trepid... but he didn't mention this to Harriet. The guy who trapped him didn't have the right hair to be Ken, and besides, it was wrong to say anything bad about a guest.

Harriet tried to pull up the weights, but it was no use. "Boo, Sue, Lou!" she called out. "Emergency! I need two of you in the dungeon to help Norm, and one to find Viktor and tell him there's an intruder in the castle!" There was no reply. "Boo, Sue, Lou!" she tried again. Still nothing. "Maybe they aren't monitoring the dungeon," Harriet said to Norm. "Although they should be. I'll be back in a minute with help."

"Da..." said Norm. "I won't go anywhere."

Harriet raced up the stairs and burst into the reception area. "Boo, Sue, Lou!" she called out again.

"What on Earth's the matter?" Violetta asked her, concern etched on her beautiful pale face.

"There's an intruder, I think. Norm's been trapped, and Boo, Sue and Lou aren't answering their calls."

"Oh!" Violetta exclaimed. "That's terrible. Listen, I'll find Viktor, and you check to make sure Barbara and the others are okay."

Harriet nodded and sped up the stairs. She raced along the corridor and burst into the nursery. Barbara and the child, Amy, were finger-painting on the walls, and looked up in surprise at her. "Oh, uh, is everything alright here?" Harriet asked them. They looked at each other, smiled, and nodded. Was it Harriet's imagination, or was Barbara looking younger? She shook her head – no time to wonder about irrelevancies. "Well, keep an eye out, please Barbara. Our old friends may be back. You know? Jim and Hugo?" Barbara frowned, and said that she understood and would prepare a 'special treat' for them. Harriet thanked her and moved onto the doctor's surgery. Here, there was a 'Do not disturb' sign on the office door. She bit her lip. What if he was with a patient? She decided to check on Callie first and then come back. She ducked her head into the beauty salon, but saw only a client having her hair done. Where was Callie? She marched across the salon and checked the back office, but the gorgon wasn't there. Then she remembered the tarpaulin in the dungeon gymnasium. "Oh no," she moaned as she pulled the hairdressing cape off the client, to reveal Callie, bound to the chair. Harriet pulled off the hairdryer, ripped the duct tape off Callie's mouth, and began to work at her bonds, explaining all the while that there was an intruder, that Jim and Hugo were probably back, that Norm was trapped and the sisters were missing...

"No, but..." Callie was saying. "Harriet, stop, listen to me, it was Ken..." Harriet was still talking, still working at the bonds. "Harriet!" Callie roared. "I'm trying to tell you something!"

Harriet stopped and looked her in the face. "Tell me what?"

"I think she's trying to tell you that it was Ken Trepid," said Sergio, appearing in the doorway in his mirrored shades. He held a gun in each hand, one a pistol, trained on Callie, the other an unusual-looking modified rifle, pointed at Harriet. Harriet wondered briefly if the gun contained silver bullets, but then felt herself begin to transform. She dropped onto all fours.

"Nice doggie," said Sergio, pulling the trigger as Harriet leapt. At once, a net sprang from the strange wide barrel of the rifle, entangling the werewolf. Harriet crashed to the ground. Where the fine silver filaments of the net made contact with her skin – on her paw-pads, and her tender nose – it burned. She felt the silver sapping her strength. It was all she could do to flop on her side, and whimper. Then – worse luck, she felt the reverse transformation begin. Soon she was a woman again, with even more exposed skin to feel the burn of the silver. Sergio stepped over her, and re-secured the duct-tape over Callie's mouth, slapped some on Harriet too, then smiled at them both and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

Harriet's brain was on overload. Although the silver was taking a lot out of her, she was still able to reason, and she could have kicked herself for being so stupid. Who had told her that Norm and Blake were working on the broken weights machine? Violetta. And who had told her that Edgar was sick and that Viktor was busy working? Again – Violetta. As she worked it through, Harriet was forced to conclude that Viktor, Edgar and the three sisters must have already been trapped earlier that morning. And probably Ankh too... maybe Skully and the band? Would Barbara and Swizelsticks be next? Why was Violetta doing this, and what did she hope to achieve? What... but the castle.

#

Violetta looked up sharply as Sergio swaggered into the reception area. "Alright?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied. "Bagged them all, just as I said I would. Now, my associate will be here in a few hours in my boat with all the necessary packing equipment, as arranged, and then we'll be out of your way, and you can enjoy your castle... and its human guests... at your leisure."

"And soon you can enjoy your money," Violetta rejoined.

"True. From half a million for the aquaman, through to two and a half mill for a female werewolf... yeah, I'm looking at a pretty good haul."

"Don't forget my cut," Violetta reminded him.

"You've got your castle..."

"And the price for Viktor – two million U.S. dollars," she added.

"But of course," Sergio said, smiling.

"Although why a collector would want him..." Violetta said, shaking her head.

"Anyway. Just a few hours now," Sergio said. "I'm expecting a call from my colleague to say he's on his way. I imagine you will have your hands full until then, dealing with complaints – given that the gym, the stables, the doctor's office and the salon are all closed."

"Mm," Violetta agreed. "And I've only got that failure of a wizard to help me. Oh well, it hardly matters if the guests have a bad time now, does it?"

"Just keep up the pretence of normality 'til I've gone with my cargo, okay? It'll help everything run more smoothly."

"Yeah, okay," Violetta agreed.

"In the meantime, I'm just going to do the rounds, checking that everyone is still where they ought to be."

#

"He's not where he ought to be," Lisa explained. She was standing in Skully's bedroom along with Craig and Hayden. "We made an arrangement last night to meet up here at two o'clock. I said in the note I sent at lunch that I'd be bringing you guys to meet him, but to let me know if that was a problem. Now he's not here. I wonder if he got scared because you were coming."

"Or maybe he doesn't exist," Hayden mumbled.

"Oh, yeah, like I'd make up..." Lisa began, but Craig silenced her with a raised hand.

"Listen!"

The trio stopped arguing, and listened. There was a rattling sound coming from under the bed. Lisa peeked under, and immediately spotted a suitcase, jumping and jiggling around. She dragged it out and flipped open the lid. "Skully!" she shouted. Skully rolled his glass eyes towards Lisa in a pleading sort of way, but as his jaw was disconnected, he couldn't say anything. "Oh, something's seriously wrong here," Lisa said. "We need to find some wire!" At this, Skully began to roll his eyes frantically back and forth, trying to gesture with them to the right. "There's some wire in here?" Lisa asked him. The skull jostled up and down, trying to nod. "Okay," said Lisa, and they began to search. Before long they found a roll of wire in the bottom of a drawer, along with a pair of wire cutters. Lisa chopped off a length, picked up Skully's skull, and carefully wired in his jawbone. As soon as it was in place, Skully began to talk, and Lisa nearly dropped him. "Oh, thank goodness," Skully said. "Listen, something really weird happened. A guy – he might have been one of the guests, or maybe not – I've never really seen them – anyway, he came into my bedroom just after lunch, overpowered me, and chopped my wiring to bits, then stuck me in this suitcase! I don't know why he did it, but it's freaked me out, and now I'm really worried about the others. Are all of the staff okay?"

"Well," Lisa said, "We saw Harriet and Swizelsticks and Violetta at lunch, and they seemed okay. Edgar was missing though. What did this guy look like?"

"Like some fashion model," Skully said. "You know – tan, chiselled jaw."

Lisa thought at once of Ken Trepid. "Long curly hair?" she asked.

"No – he had a really short, military style haircut," Skully said. He suddenly remembered Jim and Hugo. It wasn't either of them, but maybe someone in their employ. "Maybe he's a newcomer. You know, an intruder?" A short haircut... Not Ken then, Lisa concluded, nor Phil or Albert, who weren't at all chiselled, nor Dan or Mike who were both silver haired. An intruder, as Skully suggested. "We need to warn Viktor, and Harriet. It might be... an old enemy."

"Okay," Lisa agreed. "I'll go."

"No, wait!" Skully said. "Put me together first, please!"

"I'll go," Craig offered. "And Hayden can stay and help you."

Lisa looked at Craig, and smiled. Her younger brother was plucky, and Lisa was suddenly glad of his friendship. "Thanks," she said, punching him lightly on the arm. "But please do be careful."

"I'll be back soon with Harriet or Viktor," Craig replied.

As soon as he left, Lisa began to pull Skully's bones out of the suitcase. The skeleton was a 206-piece jigsaw puzzle, and although Lisa knew her human biology pretty well, there were some bits that had her flummoxed. She lined up the pieces as best she could, and then Hayden wired them together.

Once one of his arms was together, Skully tried to help by pointing to various bits. It was quite disconcerting seeing the disembodied arm moving by itself. "That bone comes next," Skully said now, indicating one. "No, not that one. That's a sacral vertebra, not a lumbar vertebra!"

#

Craig prowled the corridors of the castle, keeping to the shadows as best he could. Truth be told, he was loving this. Monsters, a castle, a rescue mission, and him saving the day – it was all too perfect. Except...

Except that he couldn't find anyone. Oh, he'd passed various guests, of course. Phil had nodded at him, and that horrible boy Christopher had mock-lunged at him in a mildly threatening way, but Craig had yet to see Viktor or Harriet, nor any member of the staff. Not even Edgar.

Finally he spotted Violetta in reception. She was dealing with a long queue of guests. Craig ran up to the front of the queue. "Miss," he began, but Violetta scowled at him and pointed to the back of the line. Penny Fisher, who was currently complaining about the "Do not disturb" sign on the doctor's door also glared at him, and so Craig meekly walked to the end of the line. There didn't look to be a major crisis in the castle, after all. Maybe Skully was exaggerating.

#

"'Dem bones, dem bones, dem...dry bones," Skully sang. "Now hear, de word o' de Lord." Lisa thought he seemed remarkably chipper, considering his condition. "De arm bone's connected to the... shoulder bone..." he continued, as Hayden twisted wire between the right humerus and scapula.

#

Penny had made her point about the unavailable doctor and had finally gone, after receiving some assurances from Violetta. Then the old biddies had complained about Blake not being on hand, and had at last left, mollified by Violetta's explanations. Dan and Mike complained next about the gym being out of commission and had received an apology, and then Della and Doreen had griped about the locked beauty salon. Finally it was Craig's turn.

"What's your problem?" Violetta asked him. Then, before he could answer, she said, "You know what? I'm not interested. Beat it."

"I just need to know where Viktor or Harriet is," Craig told her.

Violetta's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I only want to tell them something," Craig said. "Please," he added. "It's important."

Violetta forced herself to smile. "Well, they are both very busy people. Why don't you tell me what the problem is, and then I'll see if it's important enough to disturb them, okay?"

Her eyes were very deep, and very dark. "Okay," Craig found himself saying. "It's just that there's an intruder in the castle, and I need to warn them."

Surprise and anger contorted Violetta's features. Her hand shot out and grabbed Craig around his slim wrist, her fingernails digging into his skin. "Who told you this?"

"N...no one," Craig squeaked.

Violetta lifted her arm and pulled Craig off his feet. He dangled on the other side of the reception desk, his wrist in agony. He began to whimper. Violetta dragged him over the desk and into the reception office, flinging him into a sofa. "Who told you this?" she said again, between gritted teeth.

"No one," Craig answered in a tiny voice.

Violetta scowled, closed the door, locked it, and drew the blinds. "Last chance, kid. Then all bets are off. Who told you?"

# Chapter Twenty-Five

The tiny foot bones were particularly problematic. Lisa was still scratching her head and trying to separate the tarsals from the metatarsals when Skully howled in frustration, "Oh, just put them anywhere! We've got to go help the others!" Hayden nodded and got to work, wiring the delicate pieces higglety-pigglety. Lisa took a moment to look at her watch. Craig had been a long time. Lisa began to worry, wondering where he was, and if he had found Viktor or Harriet yet.

#

Skully! That loathsome bag of bones, Violetta thought, as she emerged from her office. Trust him to befriend a group of nerdy children. She started to lick an errant drop of blood off her lips, then stopped herself and shrugged. It hardly mattered now if anyone saw her even drenched in blood. Soon her mission would be at an end, and she could do as she pleased, mistress of her own castle. She strode through the corridors, buoyed by the fresh young blood in her system. It had been so long since she'd fed on human, she'd almost forgotten how good it tasted. No more sheep, she silently vowed, as she came to a halt in front of Skully's door. She put one hand on the handle, took a deep breath, and flung it open. The room was empty.

#

Sergio went to check on the dungeon residents first. Norm was still attached to the weights machines, but without a gag, since Harriet had removed it. Sergio curtailed Norm's shouting by stuffing the cloth back into his mouth. Blake was next. Sergio was tempted to forgo the dive, as it seemed too much bother to put on his mask and regulator, but, after all, Blake was worth half a million dollars. Plus, if he escaped, he could jeopardise everything. So Sergio kitted up, dived down, and of course found Blake right where he had left him, still trying to untangle himself, and glaring at Sergio with pure hatred.

#

Skully, Lisa and Hayden had left Skully's room only moments before Violetta's arrival. In between telling the pair how to reconstruct his body, Skully had tried to raise a response from the ghostly sisters, calling their names, and repeating "emergency" over and over, but there was no answer, and this disturbed him greatly. He accepted that it was reasonably easy for an intruder armed with a pair of wire-cutters to overwhelm a skinny and relatively weak skeleton such as himself, but for someone to somehow incapacitate three ghosts... It was a scary thought. Yet if the castle was under threat, it was vital to have the sisters involved in their defence. Skully knew that Barbara was the resident most capable of communicating with the supernatural and spiritual world, and so after a moment's thought, he put on a big coat and floppy hat and led Lisa and Hayden up the spiral staircase winding around his tower room to the floor above.

#

As Sergio was climbing the spiral stairs out of the dungeon, his cellphone chimed. He looked at the text message and smiled. One hour until his colleague arrived with the boat. Time for the final move in the game. The five million dollar move.

#

Skully was relieved to find Barbara in the playroom, along with her young charge. He pulled his hat low and his coat tight so that the girl would not see what he was, and began to explain the situation, but it seemed that Barbara already knew. The witch told him that she and the girl had been preparing spells to use against the intruders. The girl held up a handful of eggs. "They're enchanted confusion bombs," she said proudly.

"Er... um..." Skully replied, unsure what to say. "You've been doing magic?"

"Oh yes!" the girl replied. "Aunty Barbara's a witch. She's been teaching me." Then the girl put her head on one side. "So, what are you?" she asked him. Skully wasn't sure what to say.

"A skeleton," Lisa informed her, figuring with little kids it was just easier to tell them the truth and let them deal with it. They had more important things to worry about than upsetting some child anyway.

"Cool!" Amy said.

Lisa looked at the old witch. "Skully can't get a hold of the ghost sisters. Can you?"

Barbara scrunched up her face in concentration, compounding the wrinkles. She rapidly shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts, and then swore, pulled a feather from her pocket and used it to write in the air. At once, one of the chickens began to squawk, startling everyone in the room except Barbara. She walked over to it, lifted it, removed the egg, cracked it open, pulled out a piece of paper and read the contents. The news was bad. "They are trapped. They don't know where. Everywhere they look, they see only themselves. They are frightened and separated."

Skully pushed his Velcro eyebrows low on his face. "Keep communicating with them. Try to get more information. We'll take some of your confusion bombs," he went on, and Lisa and Hayden eagerly sprang forward to collect some of the eggs. "Look after the little girl, and don't do anything dangerous, okay?"

Barbara nodded and put an arm around Amy.

#

"How can I help you, Mr. Trepid?" Violetta said to Sergio. He was standing at the reception desk, but two of the three travel agents were also in the grand hallway, so Violetta figured she had better make a pretence of normality.

"It's rather a delicate matter," Sergio replied. "Perhaps we should discuss it in your office?"

Violetta raised her eyebrows. Was there a problem with Sergio's plan? There better hadn't be! She thought for a moment. Sergio had asked her to keep everything normal until after he had left. The boy she had recently dined on was still in the office, but she had tucked him into one of the metal lockers, so that wouldn't be a problem. "Certainly, Mr. Trepid," she said, smiling.

After she had closed the door, the smile dropped. "What is it?"

"Just this," Ken said, raising his modified rifle and firing. Violetta responded at once, turning into mist, but she was not fast enough. The core of her being was still solid enough to be caught by the net of silver filaments. She coalesced back to solidity under the net and began make unearthly sounds, growling and swearing. Her teeth lengthened and thickened, preparing for an attack. If it wasn't for the silver, she'd be tearing at Sergio's throat right now, and he'd be dead in less than a minute.

Sergio tut-tutted. "Bella!" he said. "Such ugly words from such a beautiful lady!"

"Why?" Violetta snarled.

"A young, attractive female vampire? Try five million dollars," Sergio answered. "An Arabian sheik wants you for his collection. And what a pretty pet you'll make!" He shrugged. "Sorry sweetie, but business is business."

#

Lisa, Skully and Hayden left the playroom and almost walked straight into Penny, who was pacing outside the doctor's office. As soon as he saw her, Skully went limp, and Lisa and Hayden only just managed to catch him, grabbing one arm each. "What have you got there?" Penny said suspiciously, peering at the pair.

"It's a skeleton," said Lisa. "It belongs to Dr. Ehl Bone. He...uh... loaned it to us to study. We're just returning it." She began to open the door, but Penny put a hand on her arm.

"It says 'Do not disturb," she pointed out. "Besides, I'm next."

"We'll just be a minute," Lisa said. "He's expecting us." They barged through, still carrying Skully between them, and closed the door firmly in Penny's face. They were alarmed to find the doctor lying in his office, bound in bandages. Lisa suggested that Hayden unwrap him and explain the situation, while she and Skully check on Callie next door in the salon. Hayden agreed. Unfortunately, Penny was still lurking, so Lisa had to explain that the doctor had kindly extended the loan of his medical skeleton. She dragged the floppy collection of bones along the hallway, smiling at the sceptical woman as she passed her, and used Skully's keys to unlock the salon.

As soon as she was through the door, Lisa released Skully, and hurried over to the two captive women. She pulled the duct tape off Callie's mouth. "Thanks," she said. "Um... we're... all involved in a roleplaying game. Do you think you could untie me?"

Lisa looked at her and shook her head. "You're not playing a game. You're a gorgon, and she's a werewolf," she said, nodding at Harriet, "And he's a living skeleton," she added, pointing. Skully was climbing to his feet and walking over to Harriet to see what was wrong with her. She wasn't moving.

"Oh, well," Callie said. "In that case, I guess there's no more secrets. Skully – it was one of the guests – Ken Trepid. I think he must be working for Hugo Dixon."

Skully looked up from where he was crouching beside Harriet. "Ken Trepid? Okay – Lisa, do you think you could go and tell Barbara? She can get working on a spell to weaken him. Then I need Ankh in here to help Harriet, and then I want you and Hayden to go to your room, and lock yourselves in, okay?"

Lisa nodded. But, she told herself, she was only agreeing to the first two instructions. She had her own ideas about what to do after she'd finished with those responsibilities. Craig had been gone for too long. Lisa knew she had to find him.

#

Swizelsticks had spent the afternoon restocking the bar and experimenting with new mixtures. Now he poured out pre-dinner cocktails for the three travel agents, and looked at his watch. It was getting close to dinner time, and guests were beginning to drift into the dining hall. Where were all his colleagues hiding themselves? Lazy slackers!

#

Ankh spat the herbs out of his mouth and struggled to sit up. His arms and legs were still bound, but his head was now free. As he shook it, the coins fell from his eyes and he opened them. A boy was staring at him, hands full of bandages. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "I was in the middle of a delicate procedure, and you've interrupted me! I've a good mind to curse you!"

"There's an intruder in the castle," the boy said. "He cut Skully's wires and stuffed him in a suitcase! But we put him back together."

Ankh slowly blinked his bear-like eyes, and regarded the boy. This was certainly a strange story. And how did the boy know about Skully? Ankh supposed he should go and investigate, even if it meant putting Ken Trepid's magical cure on hold for the moment.

#

Lisa discharged her obligations, sending Ankh and Hayden through to the beauty salon to tend to Harriet, and telling Barbara about Ken Trepid. The witch cackled and clapped her hands, pleased to have a target for her spells. Lisa was startled when the little girl, Amy, cackled too.

Now Lisa walked slowly down the main staircase, feeling anxious for Craig. Her brother had been on a mission to find Viktor or Harriet, but now they knew Harriet had already been captured. Lisa was worried that maybe Craig had somehow crossed Ken Trepid and been captured too – or worse. Lisa remembered how nervous the Count had made her feel at their first meeting, but now she wanted more than anything to see that solid menacing presence. She felt sure that Viktor would know what to do. But where was Viktor? Had Craig found him?

#

Sergio entered the Professor's cottage, and was pleased to see him still safely bound hand and foot. He took the philosopher's stone from his pocket and waved it at the Professor, unable to resist a little gloat. The money he was going to make from the sale of the monsters was phenomenal, but the stone he now held was even more remarkable. It would give him time to enjoy the money. Several centuries, hopefully.

Feeling the angry stare of the Professor burning into his back, Sergio walked out of the cottage and down to the pier, looking out to the mainland. He thought he could just make out his boat, way in the distance. Time to check on the headless ghost.

#

Ankh, Skully, Callie and Hayden had managed to pull the silver net off Harriet, but still she did not stir. A criss-cross pattern of angry red welts marred her face, and her breathing was shallow. Gently they lifted her and laid her upon one of the salon's massage tables. "Harriet said Norm was trapped," Callie told the others. "Probably Blake too, and maybe everyone else."

"The sisters have definitely been captured," Skully added.

"We need Viktor," Ankh said. "He'll know what to do. I'll go – we can't afford for the guests to see you, Skully, so maybe you should stay and look after Harriet. And Callie..."

"The guests!" Callie yelped. The others looked at her expectantly. "Well," she explained, "it's nearly dinner time."

"That's hardly important at a time like this," Ankh pointed out.

"No, she's right," Skully said. "The guests can't know anything bad has happened. We have to run business as usual. I'll get down to the kitchen and start cooking. Callie can stay with Harriet."

"What about me?" Hayden asked. The others looked at him, startled. They'd forgotten he was there.

#

This is getting ridiculous, Swizelsticks thought, as he poured out drink after drink, attempting to calm the restless guests. It was getting late and there was no-one to take their dinner orders. Where were Violetta and Edgar? Where was the band, for that matter?

"Listen," Albert Fisher was saying to him now, pointing a stubby finger in his face. "I've been out to the reception desk to make a complaint, and there's no one there. There's no one anywhere. There's just you."

"Yes sir?" Swizelsticks said warily.

"Yes. So, I'll have the steak, the wife will have the chicken, and my son will have the lamb."

"Oh," said Swizelsticks. "Yes, alright." Hearing this seeming-acceptance of his new-found role as a waiter, several other guests placed their orders too. Swizelsticks tried to remember it all as best he could, then walked through to the kitchen. The kitchen was empty of people and empty of dinner preparations, but full of dirty lunch dishes. This was not a good sign. Swizelsticks bit his lip and tugged at his goatee.

#

Lisa had checked the dining hall, the library and several rooms marked "Staff only," but had been unable to find any sign of Viktor or Craig. Next, she headed for the reception desk. Finding no one there, she stole behind the desk and into the office, gasping when she saw Violetta tangled in a silver net exactly like the one that had ensnared Harriet. Unlike the werewolf, however, the silver had not sapped the vampire's strength. She was struggling violently, and was even bleeding in places where the net had cut into her skin. Some of the blood had smeared around her mouth. Lisa didn't like this arrogant vampire very much, but they needed all the help they could get, so she kneeled beside her and began to release her. Violetta stopped her struggling and stared at her rescuer.

#

"There was a human eyeball in my drink!" Dan suddenly announced. The room went silent as other guests turned to stare at him. "They tried to cover it up, but it was there, staring at me!"

"And they tried to cover up the fact that a snake bit me!" Peaches added, before Doreen could stop her.

Beryl, who had finally been convinced by her friends that she had merely experienced a bad dream, now had second thoughts. "There was a dead arm in the shower, and it touched me!" she said. "Something weird is going on here."

Everyone began to murmur at once. Rachel looked over at her husband, who was suddenly very pale. "You look like you've seen a ghost,' she said.

"I think I might have," he whispered.

#

Ankh flung open the door to the reception office just as Violetta was finally released from her bonds. "This young lady must have told you – there's an intruder in the castle," he said. "I can't find Viktor anywhere. I think he must be in his chamber, and of course, I can't access it. Harriet's unconscious, so you'll have to do it."

Violetta stared at the mummy in disbelief. An intruder? He didn't know!

a fool, she thought. Not bothering to speak to either of them, she strode out of the room. Ankh trotted after her. She was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, scowling in concentration and delicately sniffing the air. "Violetta?" said Ankh. "Aren't you going to release Viktor?"

She turned her almond eyes to him and smiled, baring her teeth. "My darling cousin can wait his turn. I've a traitor to deal with first."

As she exited the castle through the side door, Ankh stood staring after her, flummoxed. "What does she mean, a traitor?"

"She must mean Ken Trepid," Lisa said. "He's the one, doing this, not an intruder."

"Ken Trepid? That nice young man? But he was helping me out!"

"Um... didn't he tie you up in bandages?" Lisa reminded him.

Suddenly embarrassed that he'd been tricked, Ankh changed the subject. "Without Harriet," he said, thinking aloud, "we can't get to Viktor. The only other way to check on him would be to ask the sisters, since ghosts can go anywhere, but they're trapped too, and we don't know where they are." He scratched his bandaged head in frustration.

Lisa thought about the problem. "But isn't there another ghost?"

#

Barbara shambled into the beauty salon, muttering and fuming, Amy trailing behind her. "I can't do anything to Ken Trepid," she said to Callie, then spat on the floor, much to the gorgon's disgust. "He's put some sort of binding spell on my magic. Even those confusion bombs I made won't work against him."

"Then maybe you can do something to help Harriet," Callie suggested. "A healing spell, perhaps?"

Barbara regarded the unconscious woman. She laid a cracked and calloused hand on Harriet's forehead, and murmured a charm. As the welts on Harriet's face began to heal, growing smaller and paler, wrinkles began to reappear around Barbara's eyes, and her blonde hairs turned back to grey. Amy watched her, wide-eyed. After a while, Harriet's skin was back to normal, but she had yet to regain consciousness. "Can't you do any more?" Callie asked her.

Barbara cackled. "Get the wizard," she said. "He'll bring her round."

#

As Violetta followed the scent trail of Sergio down to the pier, Sergio was entering the stables. Sir Osis was laying there, his body sunken halfway into the floor, his head in his lap, singing an irreverent little song about Queen Elizabeth the First and hiccupping merrily as he drained the essence of the latest smashed whiskey bottle. Sergio smiled at the sight. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have captured Osis too, but really, there wasn't much of a market for type two ghosts, especially ones as messed up as this so-called riding instructor. He wasn't worth more that a couple of hundred thousand – small change for Sergio. The ghost horse, on the other hand was an interesting novelty that Sergio wouldn't mind for his own collection. He didn't have the equipment on hand, unfortunately, but maybe he could come back to the island later. It wasn't as if it was going to be occupied!

Suddenly, Sergio heard voices. This was unexpected, and so he hid himself in a closet in the tack room, squeezing in amongst the bridles hanging there. He was astonished when the mummy walked in, accompanied by the woman Sergio had earlier seen snooping. "Reginald!" Ankh said when he saw the ghost. "Get up!"

"Go away!" the ghost slurred. "I'm bussssy."

"It's an emergency," said Lisa. "And we need you!"

"Meh," Reginald replied, taking another swig.

"ARISE, SIR OSIS!" Ankh commanded, his eyes beginning to glow red.

"Alright, alright," Reginald said, awkwardly dematerialising and then re-materialising in an upright position. "Hold your horses." Then he began to giggle.

The mummy, the woman and the ghost left the tack room, and Sergio emerged from his hiding place, wiping sweat from his forehead. This was not good. If Ankh had escaped, had he also released others? It seemed likely that he would have discovered the gorgon and the werewolf next door. If it was just those three loose, Sergio knew he could regain the upper hand. The deal would still go ahead. But first he had to ensure his own safety. He still had the mirrored sunglasses, so that was okay, but the werewolf would be able to scent him. It was time for some evasive manoeuvring. Sergio moved through into the stables, approached one of the zombie horses, and grimacing, poked at a virulent green festering wound, which squirmed with maggots. Creamy pus welled up from below. Retching, Sergio spread the foul-smelling goo all over his clothes.

#

When Skully had entered the kitchen, he had found a forlorn and lost-looking bartender standing at the fridge, staring at the contents in confusion. "Skully! Thank goodness," Swizelsticks said. "The guests are desperate for dinner. It's a disaster out there!"

"It's worse than you think," Skully said, as he began to assemble ingredients. He outlined the scenario to an increasingly shocked Swizelsticks.

"I have to go to her," Swizelsticks said, as soon as Skully had finished relating the situation.

"Who?" Skully asked him.

"Harriet, of course!" Swizelsticks yelled, rocketing out the kitchen and up the main staircase. Barbara was standing in the upstairs corridor. She saw the look in the wizard's eye and smiled, knowing it was unnecessary to explain anything. Harriet would be just fine.

#

Trembling with fury, Violetta followed Sergio's scent as far as the stables, but here she lost him. The stench of rotting horse flesh was overwhelming.

#

Ankh and Lisa raced into the kitchen, Reginald drifting behind them, his head tucked into his armpit, a dopey grin on its face. "We need to make coffee," Lisa said to Skully. "Lots of it." Skully was up to his elbow joints in a mixing bowl, but he pointed out the coffee percolator. Soon the mummy and the woman were preparing and then smashing cup after cup of strong black coffee, forcing the ghost to catch and drink the essence. Finally he seemed more alert, and Lisa explained the situation to him.

"So, you want me to look for the boss?" he said.

"Yes!" Ankh and Lisa replied.

Reginald faded from view and Lisa was worried he had flaked out on them, but after a moment, he reappeared. "Viktor's in a chamber under the stairs, in a coffin, bound by silver chains. He's not too happy about it either."

"Well, didn't you let him out?" Lisa said, exasperated.

"Can't," Reginald replied. "Can't touch stuff."

"But the ghost sisters knocked over a vase in front of me," Lisa said.

"Ah," Reginald nodded. "They're type one ghosts. I'm type two. They think they're so clever, what with their matter interaction. Think they're better than me..." he began to rant.

"The sisters!" Lisa said. "They can let Viktor out. Please, Sir Osis, can you go find them?"

Reginald looked dubiously at Lisa. "They don't like me, you know."

#

Hayden sat in the playroom in one of its undersized chairs, staring at Amy. Amy stared back. Both of them were annoyed that they had been left out of the action – Hayden babysitting, Amy being babysat. Finally, Amy held out her hand. There was an egg in it. "Want to see a trick?" she said.

#

Swizelsticks suggested that Callie go and check on the guests, leaving him alone with Harriet. He stood over her waving his hands in a healing charm. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder to check that no one was watching, bent down and kissed Harriet on the lips. It was a strange sensation to kiss someone with a beard fuller than his own, but not unpleasant. After a few enjoyable moments, Swizelsticks realised that Harriet was growling, a low dog-like rumble. He jumped away from her. Harriet sat up, and snarled. "Violetta!"

"Um," said Swizelsticks. "Swizelsticks, actually. Sorry."

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Reginald Osis whizzed through the castle, plunging through walls, ceilings and floors, searching for any sign of spiritual energy which might indicate where the three sisters were hidden. All of the whizzing about, on top of the whiskey, was making him woozy. Finally, having exhausted all possibilities, Osis returned to the kitchen to report back to Ankh and Lisa.

"Are you sure you looked everywhere?"

"Everywhere I could get to – and they simply aren't there. I guess they..."

"Wait a moment," Lisa interrupted him. "You just said 'everywhere I could get to'! Was there somewhere you couldn't get to?"

"Yes – a bedroom on the second floor, near the stairs."

"Ken Trepid's bedroom, no doubt. That's where they will be."

#

Sergio bolted for the castle, gun drawn and held in his left hand, a silver crucifix held in the right. He went in through the back door, and turned to the east passage, choosing one of the spiral tower staircases in order to avoid traffic on the main stairs. If there were monsters loose, he had to get to his room and stock up on weaponry. Too much was at stake for him to abandon his plans. As he ran, dripping rotten horse pus, he thought furiously. His first option was to recapture as many of the loose monsters as he could. Failing that, he would bail out of the castle, taking the lighter and most valuable of the cargo – the ghost sisters would fit in a backpack, and Violetta he could probably drug and sling over his shoulder. It would be a shame to leave the others – the last thing he wanted was a castle full of angry creatures wanting revenge, but he consoled himself that only Violetta knew who he truly was. He almost chuckled, thinking about the real Ken Trepid who was currently on a trek deep in the Congo and unaware that his name had been appropriated. He wondered if the monsters would track down the poor idiot and make him pay.

Sergio had almost reached his bedroom door when the mummy and the woman appeared at the top of the stairs. Everyone froze, staring at each other. Then the mummy opened his mouth to speak, but at the same time, Sergio raised the gun and pointed it straight at Lisa. "No curses, please doctor. Or I'll have to supply you with a new patient to look after. And I'm not sure scarab beetles can cure gunshot wounds in a human." The doctor's eyes glowed, but he closed his mouth.

Lisa, meanwhile, desperately thinking of what they could do, felt around inside her pockets. Her hands closed on one of the eggs – a confusion bomb! At once, she pulled the egg out and threw it at Sergio. As it landed wetly on his chest, blossoming into a splat of yellow goo, Sergio automatically squeezed the trigger, only just managing to pull his arm wide of the mark as he did so. He didn't want to shoot the woman. Monsters Sergio could cope with, but the human police were a different matter. Having Interpol on his tail was something he wanted to avoid.

So the shot missed Lisa, but Lisa didn't know that Sergio had deliberately missed. Terrified, she threw up both of her hands and stared at the man, waiting for further reaction. Was she going to die?

Surprisingly, the man laughed. He still held the gun on Lisa, but with his other hand he was unlocking his door. "Was that egg supposed to be one of the witch's special tricks?" he asked. "Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless!" Then he was inside his room, and Lisa heard the door lock.

She looked at Ankh. "We need a new plan," said the mummy.

#

With Amy and Hayden safely out of the way, and Swizelsticks tending to Harriet, Barbara and Callie had moved into the staffroom to discuss what they should do next. Now, hearing the gunshot, Barbara, Callie, Swizelsticks and Hayden all appeared in the hallway, faces pinched with concern. Lisa reassured everyone that she was alright, and then Harriet appeared too, her face pale but her eyes steely. Sir Osis, also alarmed by the sudden bang, materialised next to her.

"We need a council of war," Harriet announced, leading them all back into the staffroom.

#

Finding herself alone in the playroom, Amy began to practice her spells. She thought it would be fun to make chicken feathers erupt from her brother Christopher's mouth.

#

Violetta was infuriated when she lost the trail at the stables. The scent of rotting horseflesh was so overpowering that she knew at once what Sergio had done in order to mask his own fragrance. That meant that he knew he was being followed. Where would he go if he felt threatened? He'd want to stock up on weapons, she realised. He'd hole up in his room.

#

"Violetta is behind this," Harriet explained, wasting no time in getting to the point. "She brought in this Ken Trepid character – although I expect he is really someone else – and I think she must have planned it all along. I don't think any of this has anything to do with Hugo Dixon, Big Jim, or Trevor Romanoff. It has to do with Violetta, and with her feelings towards Viktor. There's a lot of bad blood there. Oh, do pardon the pun."

The others exchanged looks. None of them had liked Violetta very much. She was rude, snobby and demanding, and yet, due to her condition, they had accepted her as one of their own. Her betrayal hurt. Lisa bit her lip, and raised her hand. Harriet looked at the young woman, eyebrows raised. "I just let Violetta go," she said, sheepishly. "She was tangled up in a silver net – like the one that got you. She was really mad, and she stormed off, saying she had a traitor to deal with. I'm sorry," she added.

Harriet rubbed the long hairs on her chin thoughtfully. "In that case, "Ken" must have double crossed her. Good. That means their forces are divided. Oh, and don't beat yourself up about letting her go," she said to Lisa. "She had us all fooled. Alright. Here's the plan. First up, Hayden, you go look after Amy again." Hayden scowled, as Harriet turned to the others and continued. "We will need Viktor to deal with Violetta, and possibly also to deal with "Ken", since Viktor should be able to turn to mist and simply flow under his door. Otherwise, Norm might be handy – he's not particularly affected by bullets. Barbara, do you think you could release Norm? It might take some magic... he's weighted down in the dun...gymnasium." Barbara nodded. "Good. I'll get Viktor. Osis, I need you to keep trying to access Ken's bedroom. We need the sisters. Who else is missing? Edgar and the Professor and the band?"

"I can go and look for Edgar and the Professor," Lisa said, determined to go look for Craig at the same time.

Harriet bit her lip. "I'm not comfortable with you knowing what we are, let alone helping us deal with this terrible situation. We shouldn't be putting guests in this position."

Swizelsticks smacked himself on the head. "Oh my word! The guests!" he said.

Harriet narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"It's past dinnertime," Swizelsticks explained. "They've all put in orders, but with us all up here..."

Harriet got the idea. "Alright – you and Callie go and deal with the guests. Keep them happy. Ply them with drink. See about dinner. Anything but the truth, okay?" She turned to Ankh. "Ankh, can you go and see about the band, the Professor and Edgar?" Lisa opened her mouth to protest, but Harriet held up a hand. "No. I know you offered to help, but I don't want you roaming around. Violetta is dangerous. She doesn't draw boundaries like Viktor does. She'd have no qualms about draining the lifeblood from a young woman."

Lisa sucked in her breath. Violetta would have no qualms about draining the lifeblood from a young person, it was true. She could just picture Craig, eagerly asking for her help to find Viktor, and being led into the reception office...

At once, Lisa shot to her feet and bolted from the room.

#

Reginald Osis drifted back to "Ken Trepid's" room and was startled to find an entrance straight away. There was a gap just under the doorway where the occupant had accidentally brushed aside some of the iron filings in his haste to enter. Reginald entered invisibly, and at once saw the fellow involved in some complicated activity, filling his pockets with assorted items. Rather than watch, the ghost began to search the room. He was surprised to find Edgar stashed inside the wardrobe. He tried futilely to untie the little hunchback, but his hands passed through the duct-tape. He was, however, able to whisper to him, informing him of a rusty nail which was poking out at the back of the wardrobe. With guidance from Reginald, Edgar was able to manoeuvre himself to the right position and begin to work the nail against his bonds. Reginald left him to it, and continued to explore. Finally he discovered three identical boxes, stashed inside a suitcase. He entered one of the boxes and was shocked to discover his essence suddenly meshed with Boo's. Suddenly he felt the loneliness and pain of enforced spinsterhood. Boo, for her part, suddenly felt an intense hatred for Queen Elizabeth the First, a love for horses, a desire for drink, and... yes, loneliness too. Once both of them worked out what was happening and withdrew to opposite sides of the box, they were able to communicate. Reginald told Boo that help was on its way – hoping that he was, in fact, correct. "My knight in shining armour," Boo replied, metaphorically batting her eyelashes at him.

#

Still fuming about her inability to perform magic against their enemy, Barbara was the first to leave the staffroom. She was determined to help in some way, and so releasing Norm was the only thing on her mind. She was irritated, therefore, when she was accosted by a group of guests in the entrance hall. Already upset by the allegations of snake-bites, dead arms, eyeball cocktails, anti-smoking ghosts and spirit horses, most of the guests had fled the dining room upon hearing what sounded alarmingly like a gunshot coming from the floor above. Now they milled aimlessly around reception, ringing the bell, calling out and demanding attention from a member of staff. Unfortunately for her, and also for them, Barbara was the first one they saw. They began to fire questions at her. What was going on? Was that a gunshot? Where were all the members of staff? Why were so many of the resort facilities closed? When would dinner be ready? Where did the bartender go? How can we order a boat to take us back to the mainland?

Unable and unwilling to answer their questions, Barbara simply reached into one of her pockets, withdrew an egg, and lobbed it into the lobby. It shattered as it hit the marble floor, releasing a cloud of vapour. Guests began to cough and splutter, then look at one another and scratch their heads in puzzlement. What were they all doing out here in reception? Sheepishly, they shuffled back into the dining room.

Satisfied, Barbara walked across the now empty entrance hall, heading for the spiral staircase leading to the dungeon. Her confusion bombs might be useless against "Ken Trepid," but they weren't without power.

#

Following closely behind Barbara, Swizelsticks stopped halfway down the steps and gaped open-mouthed at the scene. An angry and anxious mob had been rendered meek and mild by Barbara's spell. He wished he could do magic like that. He turned to Callie beside him, a look of wonder on his face, but she shook her head. "Barbara's magic is good, but it takes forever to prepare, and rarely lasts three minutes," she said, grimacing. "I need to get in there before the effects of the spell wear off, and do some damage control, and you should get to Skully and see if anything's ready. Appetisers preferably, but any food will do."

#

Harriet walked gingerly down the central staircase behind the others. Continuing pain due to the silver net rendered her too slow to witness the scene with the guests. Nevertheless, she was deeply worried. They had not one, but two enemies at large, both of them very dangerous, and both fully aware that they were dealing with monsters. This was nothing like the fight with Hugo Dixon and Big Jim. They also had nineteen guests who needed to be kept happy and in the dark. Well, no, she supposed if you discounted "Ken Trepid," Lisa, Hayden, Craig and Amy, then it was only fourteen guests to be looked after. Still, it was going to be difficult. And Viktor, the sisters, the Professor, Edgar and the band were all unaccounted for. Harriet could have howled in frustration.

#

Lisa, meanwhile, was desperately searching in the reception office. When she had first seen Violetta entangled in the net, she had been so concerned for the vampiress that she had neglected to take in her surroundings. Now she at once spotted a spray of blood splattered against a wall. She had seen enough TV shows on forensic science to realise that this was the result of a spurt from a punctured artery. It was not a good sign. She looked behind the sofa, under a desk and finally in a metal locker.

#

Edgar worked his wrists back and forth, back and forth, sawing through his duct-tape bonds. It was frustrating and exhausting, but finally he was rewarded with a snap as the last fibres gave way, and his hands were freed. He ripped the remaining tape from his mouth and feet, and then wondered what to do next. He couldn't just burst out of the wardrobe. That would get him shot – or at best, recaptured. He asked himself, What would the Professor do?

#

Ankh had found the band members all tied up in their rooms. It had taken a while to untie the first one, Djangled Brineheart, but after he was released, the pirate used his hook to slice through the bonds of the others, and soon they were all free. Unsure what to do with them, and worried they would get in the way, Ankh suggested that they do what they do best – namely, head for the suspended stage in the dining hall and entertain the guests. They grumbled, wanting to help their friends and wanting revenge on Ken, but reluctantly agreed with Ankh's reasoning. Violetta and the monster hunter were short term problems. Disgruntled guests had potential long-term ramifications. They sighed, and pulled on their disguises.

#

Amy stared forlornly at the teenage boy who was now back, babysitting her in the playroom. He didn't look happy about it. "You know," she said eventually. "We don't have to stay here."

"They asked me to keep an eye on you," Hayden said glumly.

"Yes," said Amy, "but we could still go and see what's happening. Don't you want to know?"

#

Barbara considered the problem of Norm for a minute, and then began to thread soft rooster tail-feathers through each of the chains attached to the weights that held him prisoner, as Norm watched mutely. When she was done, Barbara clapped her hands smartly, and each of the chains snapped at the feather, dropping the weight it was attached to. Norm sat up, throwing off the remainder of the chains. He pulled the gag out of his mouth. "Where's Blake?"

Barbara shrugged. "Haven't seen him. Probably trapped. Anyway, Harriet needs you to help get this Ken Trepid guy out of his room. He's got a gun."

"Okay," Norm agreed. He didn't mind a few bullet holes. "I'll just go get Blake first."

Barbara frowned at him. "No, I think it's urgent!"

Norm shrugged. "So's Blake." He walked over to the pool and plunged into the water, pleased, for perhaps the first time in his very unconventional life, that he didn't need to breathe.

#

"And did it hurt very much when your head was cut off, Sir Osis?" Boo simpered.

"Oh no, not at all. The whole execution was nothing more than a pain in the neck!" Reginald replied. "And please, let's not be formal."

"Alright Reginald," Boo giggled. "Still, you were very brave!"

"Reggie, please! So... if it's not too personal, how did you shuffle off your mortal coil?"

"It wasn't very exciting. Just influenza. I died at home, with Suzanna nursing me. She died herself a week later. Louise had died a week before."

There was a long pause, then Reginald spoke.

"Boudica..."

"Yes Reggie?"

"When you were alive, what colour were your eyes?"

"Why, they were blue. Cornflour blue."

"Blue," Reginald sighed. "My favourite."

#

Lisa ran from the room and into the entrance hall. She saw Harriet moving into position under the stairs, placing her hands in a groove. "Harriet!" she yelled.

Harriet looked up, startled. "I'm busy Lisa," she said apologetically. "This is important."

"This is more important," Lisa insisted. "I think Violetta's killed Craig!"

Harriet sucked in her breath, and turned to stare at Lisa. She could tell from the young woman's pallor that she was serious. Deadly serious. She dashed to Lisa's side, and together they entered the reception office. Lisa had not moved the body... no, Harriet reminded herself, boy, not body. Not yet. He was still stuffed unceremoniously into a metal locker. It made Harriet feel sick to her stomach. Grimacing, she reached in and felt the boy's carotid artery. It was weak, but there was a pulse. She smiled reassuringly at Lisa, and gently removed the boy from the locker, laying out his body on the sofa. She showed Lisa how to apply pressure to the wounds on Craig's neck that were oozing bright red blood, and then she hastened back to the staircase to resume her task. Now, more than ever, they needed Viktor.

#

Still thinking What would the Professor do? Edgar rummaged through his pockets, and inspected every inch of the wardrobe, and came up with: a rubber band, a stick of chewing gum, a small silver coin, a paper clip, a book of matches and a sizable amount of lint. The Professor would, of course, fashion this odd collection of objects into an escape mechanism, or weapon. Edgar didn't know where to begin. That was why the Professor was the professor, and Edgar was the assistant. Edgar was still bleakly turning the objects over and over in his hands when he heard the door to the bedroom creak open and then softly close. He risked a peek out of the wardrobe and saw only an empty bedroom. "Ken Trepid" had gone.

#

Skully had surpassed himself. Dish after delicious dish came out of the kitchen, and the sumptuous food did much to calm the upset guests. Some, however, were beyond reason. Albert Fisher, Dan, Mike, Phil and Beryl were all demanding to be returned at once to the mainland. In the end, to get a moment's peace, Callie and Swizelsticks had to assure them that a boat would be available in the morning. So much for rave reviews for Romanoff Resort.

#

Harriet was in such a state that she stumbled over the words of the incantation and had to start over. She was relieved when the stone elevator began to drop into the chamber below, but horrified when she saw the silver chains binding Viktor's resting place. She should have remembered he would be trapped by silver, of course – what else would bind a vampire? She should have thought to bring someone else along to release him. Even now, she considered returning to the entrance hall and summoning help. But that would waste valuable time. Stealing herself, she reached out to the silver chains and began to unfasten them, biting on her lip to keep from howling in pain as the metal burned into her finger tips. Finally, her fingers red raw, weeping plasma and beginning to swell, Harriet flung back the chains. At once the lid of the coffin opened, and Viktor floated out as mist. He coalesced in front of Harriet. "Is it bad?" he asked her.

She nodded. "It's bad."

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

Violetta followed the stench of rotting horseflesh back into the castle. She was almost disappointed in Sergio for using so simple a trick. It was easy to tell that he had come up one of the eastern staircases and entered his bedroom. For a moment Violetta considered simply turning to mist and flowing under his door to attack him within his room, but she thought it likely that he had planted booby-traps. Better to crouch in the shadows and pounce as soon as he left.

#

"Boo..." said Reginald, suddenly remembering his mission. "How long have we been talking?"

"It seems like eternity," Boo replied.

"Yes... but how long really would you say?"

"Maybe twenty minutes. Why?"

"Gadzooks! I was supposed to report back to Harriet right away. I didn't mean to get caught up, talking... It's just that you're so easy to talk to. I have to go, but I promise I'll be back. And I'll get them to rescue you, and your sisters. Everything will be okay."

"Hurry back, Reggie!"

#

Fully equipped with a cache of weaponry slung about his person, Sergio began to pack a hard case with the three small iron boxes containing the ghost sisters. He hoisted the case onto his back and extended a foot to sweep the doorway free of iron filings so that he could physically carry the ghosts out of the room. He had decided to cut his losses. He would go downstairs to grab Violetta, and then head for the boat. Eight million dollars was better than nothing. Of course, if he spotted any of the others on the way – the gorgon for example – he could always order them to the boat at gunpoint. He was nothing if not flexible.

As Sergio creaked open the door, Violetta turned to mist, and in a rage propelled herself towards him. As Sergio cautiously crept over the threshold, Reginald Osis, blowing a farewell kiss, sent his spirit out of Boo's box and out into the corridor. As Sergio quietly closed the door behind him, the black particles that were Violetta collided with the invisible waves that were Osis, and the two of them became entangled. By the time Violetta pulled herself together and re-materialised, feeling very cold, very angry and just a little bit tipsy, Sergio had already started down the stairs, heading for the reception area.

#

"He's in shock," Viktor diagnosed. "He's lost a lot of blood. Unfortunately, vampire saliva contains an anti-coagulant to keep the blood flowing while they... I mean, while we feed. It also contains adrenaline. That's why he's still alive. Stress hormones keep the prey fresher for longer."

"So... what can be done?" Lisa asked, biting her lip.

"He needs a blood transfusion," Viktor said, bluntly. "Otherwise he'll die."

Lisa looked at Craig, lying on the sofa, ghastly pale, then nodded and began to roll up her sleeve.

Something in Viktor that had laid dormant for centuries stirred. Lisa looked so vulnerable, but in her eyes was grim determination. Viktor was touched. He put a hand gently on her shoulder. "No," he said. "Not you. Even though you're related, we don't know that you're the right blood type."

"Who then?" Lisa asked.

"I will be the donor. My blood is compatible with all blood types."

Lisa gasped. "But won't that mean... won't that turn him..."

"Into a vampire like me?" Viktor shook his head. "No – to become a vampire, you must exchange blood with one single vampire – known as your sire. If I first consumed his blood, and then he consumed mine, then yes, that would do it. That's how it worked for me... and also for my dear cousin..." he added sadly. "But since it is Violetta who has consumed his blood, and not me, he will be safe. In fact, he will be better than safe. With my blood in him, he will feel wonderful – strong, fit and healthy. May we proceed?"

Lisa granted permission without hesitation. Ankh, who had been hurriedly summoned by Harriet, nodded grimly and got to work with needles and tubes, connecting the vampire to the unconscious boy. Lisa sat between them, one hand clutching Craig's limp hand, her other on Viktor's shoulder.

#

Edgar raced down the spiral stairs, out of the castle and over to the workshop as fast as his little legs could carry him. He crashed through one of the windows into the Professor's bedroom, rolling in a ball along the floor and then springing to his feet. In a flurry he tore the Professor's bonds from him, explaining all the while about Ken Trepid. The Professor already knew of course. He had spent the last few hours of enforced inactivity planning and scheming for revenge in his mind. So well prepared was he, that it was the work of only a few moments to gather together all of the required supplies.

#

Sergio had abandoned his Ken Trepid wig in favour of a black cap and black clothes, the better for sneaking in. As he approached the reception area, he realised the office was full of people. He heard the voices of Viktor, Ankh, and the nosey woman. That meant that Violetta had been discovered. Sergio felt the loss of her five million dollar bounty acutely. Sure, the case on his back contained three million dollars worth of spectral anomalies, but suddenly, this didn't seem like enough. If his original shopping list of monsters had been delivered to the collectors, he was looking at more than twenty million. So, he had a choice. Leave now and accept the crushing loss, or stay and try to recapture the most vulnerable of the group. It was almost a relief when the decision was taken out of his hands. "You there, young hooligan!" an Austrian accented voice called out from the castle's front entrance. "Give me back my stone!" Sergio turned, and saw the spindly form of the Professor. Slightly behind him was a smaller hunchbacked form – Edgar. Sergio was annoyed. How was everyone managing to escape on him? He was sure he had trussed up this little pipsqueak well, but even he had been able to break his bonds.

Sergio sighed, and pulled out his gun, aiming it in the Professor's direction. He didn't really want to kill, but he knew that the Professor and Edgar lived outside the law. With no legal status, the police would not be that interested in solving their murders, considering them vagrants. Sergio smiled at them. "Just what I need," he said. "Hostages."

He moved slowly towards them, keeping the gun level. In his peripheral vision he saw the door to the gymnasium open, and Norm, Barbara and Blake stepped into the entrance hall, freezing when they beheld the scene. Moments later, the door to the dining room opened, and Harriet and Callie stepped out on their way to the kitchen. "Hold it," Sergio said to them, raising a second gun. Callie groaned when she saw that he was still wearing his mirrored glasses. She ached to turn this horrible man to stone. Harriet began to feel the metamorphosis come upon her and fought to resist. As a dog, she was unable to reason properly, and she needed to think. Snapping jaws were not the solution – they had failed her twice already.

"Alright. Here's what's going to happen. All of you are going to go down to the pier with me. You will board the boat waiting there, and allow yourselves to be restrained for the voyage. If you resist in anyway, I will begin killing hostages. First, the Professor, then the hunchback, then the old witch. I know the gorgon and the fish-man are not invulnerable to bullets, and I also have some made of silver if the werewolf wants to make trouble. So. Start marching."

Everyone except the Professor exchanged wordless glances, and then they all nodded in acquiescence. The Professor didn't take his eyes off Sergio, but he did utter a small cough. Immediately following this, Sergio felt a tap on his left shoulder. Without turning around, and in one swift move, Sergio holstered the gun that was in his right hand, reached over his back to grab his assailant's wrist, and bent forward to flip the person onto the ground. The martial arts technique was a good one, but it didn't work if your assailant didn't have wrists – or even a body, for that matter. And Sergio's didn't. It was, in fact, one of the Professor's disembodied helping hands. It hit the floor and began to scuttle away, but Sergio brought up the gun in his left hand, and shot it. It somersaulted over and over, then lay, palm up, twitching. As Sergio stared at it in confusion, a dozen other hands appeared, as if from nowhere, scurrying towards him. Sergio shot at a few, even as Barbara hurled protective spells over them, but others snatched at his clothes, tied his shoelaces together, even launched themselves at his throat. Sergio shook them off, still firing shots wildly. Harriet ducked and pulled Callie down with her, and then the two of them motioned Blake, Norm and Barbara to do the same. Only Blake got the message.

Drawn by the gunfire, Skully came out of the kitchen, holding a frying pan, and was immediately clipped by a bullet, which sent a chip of his scapula flying. He dropped into a crouch next to Harriet. At the same time, Ankh came out of the reception office, his bandages bloodied. As soon as he took in the scene, he began to formulate a curse against Sergio. In the office, Viktor strained to hear what was happening. He had already picked up the gist of the events, but while he was attached by medical tubing to Craig, it was impossible for him to move. Lisa got up from her chair to investigate, but Viktor stopped her from going out, placing a hand on her arm. She looked into his dark eyes, nodded and sat down again.

In the dining hall, the band had abruptly stopped playing at the first gunshot. All of the guests had got to their feet, and were demanding to know what was going on. Swizelsticks wondered too, but, desperate to maintain normality at all costs, was physically blocking the door and muttering calming spells at the guests, which were having little effect.

Sergio had now flung away all the helping hands and raised the gun again. "That was a bad move, old man," he said, and pulled the trigger. As the bullet left the barrel of the gun, the synapses in Norm's brain finally fired at an appropriate speed, and he launched himself in front of the Professor, catching the bullet squarely in the chest, and being flung flat onto the floor by the force of the impact. Sergio howled in frustration. He whipped around and took in his audience, realising that at least three of them – Skully, Ankh and Norm – would not be intimidated by bullets. And there was no telling when the two vampires would appear. When they did, he would really be in trouble. It was time to run. Taking advantage of the confused scene, Sergio sprinted for the side door of the castle, running full tilt for the boat which was waiting for him.

Rather than pursuing him, the residents of the castle gathered around Norm, to make sure he was really alright. A point-blank bullet might still do irreparable damage, even to a long dead torso. Edgar began to examine the helping hands, crying out in triumph when he realised that one of them had recovered the philosopher's stone from their assailant's pocket. Viktor appeared then, the sleeve rolled up on his arm, a swab of cotton wool pressed to the inner elbow, and looked on in concern. Lisa followed, since Craig's colour was returning, and his breathing had stabilised. Lisa now transferred her anxiety to Norm. Hayden and Amy also came out sheepishly from their hiding place. "Remarkable," the Professor said, looking down at Norm. "Just a collection of nerves and impulses in dead tissue, and yet its leg muscles fired at just the right moment to save me. What a coincidence!"

At this, Norm growled, and climbed to his feet, to a rousing cheer from the others. "Hey!" Skully said. "I got shot too!"

In the distance, they suddenly heard a diesel engine start up – Sergio's boat, no doubt. "He's made it to the boat then. Good riddance," Harriet said, sighing.

"I don't know," Callie said. "He would have made a fine statue."

"It's a good thing he got away," Viktor said. "I, for one, would have been seriously tempted to violate my principles if I had got my hands on him." The others agreed.

"Alright – there's still a lot to be done," Harriet said. "We need to calm the guests down – we'll need a good cover story. We need to tidy up in here – where are the sisters? Oh, and we'll need to discuss what to do about Violetta."

"Violetta is my concern," Viktor said. "You leave her to me."

Suddenly Reginald Osis materialised. "I'm so sorry," he said, holding his head in his hands – literally. "I should have got to you before, but I got dispersed when I ran into Violetta, and it's taken me forever to pull myself together. It's about the sisters. Boo, Sue and Lou. That Ken Trepid fellow's got them. They are each in tiny mirrored iron boxes. I think he's going to take them with him, so we have to stop him!"

Everyone stared at Osis, and then at each other in disbelief. "Osis, Ken Trepid has gone! Please go and check the bedroom once more. Are the boxes still there?"

Osis vanished, and then reappeared almost at once. The mournful look on his face told them all they needed to know.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

Harriet could have kicked herself. The residents of the castle were all sensitive about the way society perceived them – so much so that they had been too squeamish to do harm to a man who really deserved it. And now, because of their reticence, they had lost three valuable members of their community. What terrible afterlives would the sisters experience, kept in captivity by collectors? It didn't bear thinking about.

"We could chase them in the ferry," Skully suggested.

"I could swim after them. I know I can go that fast," Blake said at the same time.

"My mechanical houseboat would easily convert to a warship," the Professor added.

Harriet shook her head. "Who knows what weaponry they'll have on board? We can't risk losing any more people!"

Suddenly, the door to the dining hall flew open and smashed into the wall with considerable force. Swizelsticks was swept out into the entrance hall by a tide of anxious and angry guests. The Fisher family led the way, closely followed by Dan and Mike, Peaches, the three travel agents, Phil, Rachel and finally the two old ladies. "What on Earth is going on?" Albert Fisher roared. "Never in my life have I experienced such poor service and... uh..." He stopped, jaw hanging slack, gaping at the assembled staff. One by one, each of the other guests caught sight of the assembly and gasped. They didn't know where to look first. Callie's head was alive with snakes, writhing and snapping. Norm's skin was avocado green, there were livid scars around his wrists and forehead, and a massive hole in his chest. Blake was naked, had pale blue rubbery skin, gills, and webbed feet. Ankh was dressed head to toe in blood-covered bandages, and his eyes were faintly glowing. Viktor was also covered in blood. But, most disturbing of all were the skeleton and the apparently headless man. As one, the guests began to respond, each in their own way. Some screamed, some clutched at each other, some tried to rationalise what they were seeing.

Viktor opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again with an abrupt snap. The massive wooden door at the front of the castle was slowly opening. The panicked hubbub died away to a murmur as Violetta swaggered in. She moved so confidently that the guests immediately quieted down, to hear what she had to say, hoping she would reassure them. The residents, on the other hand, were shocked by her gall. How could she, the orchestrator of their downfall, dare to set foot back in the castle? As she moved closer, the crowd saw that her mouth and the front of her blouse were drenched in blood. She smiled, exposing her thickened canine fangs.

"Sergio – or Ken Trepid to you – has been permanently dealt with," she said. "And his boatman is in my thrall. He's fired up the engines and is waiting to take me to the mainland. So, I'll be leaving now. I've just come back for my cat."

Harriet couldn't help it. Even though she knew the guests were watching, her hackles lifted up, her muzzle lengthened, she dropped to all fours and lunged forward, snapping and snarling at the woman who had betrayed them all. Viktor put out a hand and restrained Harriet, grabbing at the scruff of her neck.

Violetta smirked and sauntered over to Viktor. "This is my castle, Viktor," she said quietly, so that only he could hear. "It was my mother's, not your father's. But even if that wasn't the case, I'd still deserve it more. I am a real vampire, not a pathetic excuse like you, scared of his own power. When you killed that villager it was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you didn't even realise it. It should have liberated you, but instead it made you weak. Well, this world belongs to the strong. I'll be back. This resort is going to fail. You can't cover up what you are anymore." She turned to the others, and raised her voice. "You're freaks. Monsters. And these people know it," she said, pointing at the guests. "So you're finished. The castle will pass to Trevor Romanoff, and when it does, I'll be back, to deal with him the way you should have. The way a real vampire would. Goodbye Viktor."

She snapped her fingers, and Ebony the cat suddenly appeared and leapt onto her shoulders. "Oh, and one more thing," Violetta said. "I have something that belongs to you." She put her hand in her pocket and removed three small iron boxes, untwisting the catch on each one, then hurling it to the ground. At once a multicoloured stream of particles fountained from each of the boxes, along with ghostly sighs and groans. The particles turned into floating apparitions of three elderly Victorian ladies, which hovered in the air a moment, before vanishing, as Boo, Sue and Lou realised they were being watched by the guests. Violetta chuckled. "Try explaining that away, dear cousin." Then she turned, walked out of the castle and was gone.

Everyone froze, unsure what to say or do. The majority of the guests seemed to be in shock. Christopher in particular looked ready to wet his pants, much to Amy's delight. "It's all over," Harriet said, in a small voice. "Violetta is right. We can't explain any of this away. We're finished." Viktor stared back at her, his eyes dull, and nodded. He had failed them – all of the residents of the castle would become homeless, simply because he had so desperately wanted to reconcile with his cousin, to believe she had changed. What a fool he had been.

#

Suddenly, in the shocked silence, the castle rang with the sound of applause. Harriet looked around in confusion and saw Lisa walking into the centre of the entrance hall, clapping wildly, whooping and whistling. After a moment, Craig, looking fit and healthy, pushed his way past Harriet and Viktor and stood next to his sister, also applauding. Soon Hayden and then Amy joined in. Now that four people were clapping, the guests began one by one to join in, like sheep following the leader, although many of them were still looking bamboozled.

Once the applause died away, Lisa spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know about you, but that was the most amazing display of special effects I've ever seen. When I first received my invitation to a special theme week at a haunted castle, I expected the usual cheesy effects – plastic spiders and fake blood, but this group of actors has certainly surpassed my expectations. The makeup and costumes are so realistic," she continued, pointing at Norm and Blake. "The performances are spot on," she added, gesturing to Barbara and Edgar. "And, as I said, the special effects! How about those ghosts? And the living skeleton? And the werewolf transformation effect? Absolutely outstanding! Let's have another round of applause for our hosts!" And she began once more to clap and cheer.

This time the audience joined in more enthusiastically. Lisa heard a few snippets of conversation. The old ladies were saying that of course Blake was always a superb actor, and who better to play the role of an aquatic man? Albert Fisher was complaining that his invitation hadn't said anything about a haunted theme, but also grudgingly admitted that the special effects were excellent. Phil was saying over and over, "So I'm not going crazy!" Christopher was trying to convince his little sister that he had known it was a trick all along and hadn't been scared, until Amy, tired of hearing him talk, waved a feather in his face and chanted a little incantation. After that, Christopher was strangely silent. Everyone else was talking though, gushing about Callie's amazing animatronic snake wig, Reginald's outrageous costume, and Edgar's dedication to his role. After a while, almost all of the residents shuffled sheepishly together into a line and, encouraged by Lisa, took a bow. Only Viktor hung back, contemplating Lisa, a speculative look in his dark eyes, and the twitch of a smile on his lips.

Harriet decided to run with it. "Um...thank you all for your support. I would like to explain a few things. The...uh... show you just witnessed is still in the production phase. We intended to perform last night, but had a few technical hiccups."

"The script needs work too," Albert Fisher interrupted her. "Your show looked great, don't get me wrong. But it didn't make much sense. Was Violetta supposed to be the baddie?"

"Yes..." Harriet agreed. "It's a work in progress. Also, I'm afraid some of you were sent the wrong invitations – ones that didn't mention the haunted theme here at the castle. What you must have been thinking when you encountered some of our more unusual special effects props – massaging arms in the showers," she said, nodding at Beryl, "eyeballs in your drink," she added, turning to Dan, "or even ghost horses," she smiled at Phil, "well, I just can't imagine! And so we apologise for any distress. But now, all the kinks have been worked out, and dinner is ready, so please if you will move back into the dining hall, our resident zombie band will be pleased to entertain you!"

The guests filed back in, chatting animatedly about what they had just witnessed. Harriet rushed over to Hella and the band and whispered hurried instructions to them. Shrugging, they all discarded their disguises and blinked as the spotlight was turned on them, revealing their gloriously decayed bodies. They started with an old rock and roll number and the crowd cheered. "I was working in the lab, late one night, when my eyes beheld an eerie sight..." Hella sang. "For my monster, from his slab began to rise... and suddenly, to my surprise..."

"He did the mash!" the guests yelled. "He did the monster mash!" Norm, the Professor and Edgar began to do the twist together on the dancefloor. Blake twirled the two old ladies, Barbara boogied with Amy, and Craig jived next to Hayden. Swizelsticks poured out drink after drink, juggling and levitating the bottles, while Harriet, perched on a barstool, watched him and stroked her beard thoughtfully. Lou and Sue waltzed together around the chandeliers, but Boo was too busy getting to know Reginald at a candlelit table in the corner. Skully bopped from table to table delivering meals, enjoying the sight of guests savouring his cooking. Ankh and Callie sat together watching the proceedings and shaking their heads in amazement. Every guest was smiling – even Peaches.

#

Viktor sat at a quiet table in a far corner with Lisa. "I'd like you to consider a proposal," he said. Lisa, wide-eyed, took a large swig of her whiskey and soda. "Everyone here at Castle Romanoff has been highly impressed with your bravery, and your quick-thinking saved us all from financial ruin. I have a vacancy now that Violetta has gone. But not just for a receptionist. I'd like you to be co-manager of the resort. Harriet will handle the housekeeping, and you'll take care of the tourism." In the flickering candlelight his eyes were very deep and very dark. Without consciously thinking about the offer, Lisa felt herself slowly nodding.

"Wait," she said, suddenly. "You're not putting me in thrall are you?"

Viktor's perfect moustache twitched. "The thrall doesn't work if you know what I am," he said. Then he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "I've know you're a keen student of history," he went on. "What better place to be? You can hear about daily life in Ancient Egypt or Greece, straight from Ankh and Callie. Osis can tell you what an Elizabethan court was truly like. I myself can tell you about the past few centuries." He placed his hand over hers. "You've made a big impression on everyone here, Lisa. Everyone." Then he leaned over and kissed her.

"Viktor," Lisa replied. "Just how old are you?"

Viktor frowned. "Well I died at twenty nine," he said, "but technically, I'm well over three hundred."

"I'm twenty four. That's quite an age difference," Lisa said. "My mother's not going to be pleased." Then she squeezed his hand. "Alright," she said. "You've got a deal."

# About the Author

Yvonne Morrin loves European castles. And monsters. If she could be any monster, it would be a gorgon. Alas, the closest she has come to this is having a pet python, and a petrifying stare. Yvonne is still trying to decide what she wants to be when she grows up. So far, she has been a nuclear physicist, a meteorologist, a school teacher, a swing dance instructor, a zookeeper and a children's book author. Her kids' books are published under her maiden name of Morrison. This is her second book for adult readers.

Find her at www.yvonnewritesbooks.com

# Publishing Information

First published as an ebook in 2012.

© 2012 by Yvonne Morrin.

Smashwords Edition.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real people, places or events are a matter of coincidence.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

