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I laughed, delighted. He didn’t often take the bait. “I’ll see you both in a few minutes.”
“I’ll put the kettle on straight away, then.”
I turned around and drove over. Ashworth and his partner, Eli—who had worked for the Regional Witch Association, but was now retired—lived in a gorgeous white weatherboard, red tin-roofed miners’ cottage that still held all of its original features despite the fact it had been fully renovated and contained all the mod cons. I pulled up in front, then grabbed my backpack and walked down the path lined with flowers and roses. Despite the heat, none of them looked wilted. They were probably the only things in Castle Rock that weren’t.
The door opened as I approached, and Ashworth ushered me in with a quick, “Hurry up before the cool air escapes.”
I grinned and headed down the central corridor—the walls of which were a soft gray with white accents on all the fretwork—and entered the kitchen living area that dominated the entire rear of the house.
Eli swooped in, gave me a hug, then ushered me toward the table where scones and a pot of tea were already waiting.
“They may not be up to your café’s standard, but they are pretty good all the same, if I do say so myself.”
I laughed and sat down. “With Ashworth grumbling about the heat, I’m surprised you were even allowed to turn the oven on.”
“Heat will never get between Ira and a scone.” Eli cast a lovingly amused look his partner’s way. “We all joke about the depth of Monty’s love for cake, but Ira isn’t that much behind him.”
“No one could ever rival Monty when it comes to cake,” I said. “Trust me on that.”
A grinning Ashworth picked up the teapot and poured three cups, sliding one across to me before sitting down opposite. “So, what’s your problem, lass? I take it we have another beastie infestation to take care of?”
“A basilisk, and the vampiric sorceress who summoned it.”
Ashworth leaned back in his chair. “I’d heard Maelle was back in town, but why would she—”
“She didn’t,” I cut in, and quickly updated them both.
“All of which basically means we’re about to be caught in a bloody war between two crazy but powerful vampires,” Eli said when I’d finished.
“Maelle isn’t crazy,” I said.
“That would depend on your definition,” Ashworth said. “In my mind, anyone who bathes in the bloody remains of their victims falls on the wrong side of it.”
He’d obviously read the reports on Clayton’s death. While I hadn’t, I’d all but witnessed Maelle doing that same thing with the remains of an attacker up in her crow’s nest.
Did I feel any sort of guilt over the actions she’d taken to destroy Clayton? Not one solitary shred. Not after what he’d done to Belle. If I could have danced in his remains myself, I probably would have.
And no doubt would have been violently ill afterward.
“I don’t suppose either of you have dealt with a basilisk before?”
“No,” Ashworth said. “And thank God for that. They’re nasty beasties by all accounts.”
I sighed and reached for a scone. “Then have you any ideas on how we’re going to track the thing?”
“We could try a weasel,” Eli said. “From the little I’ve read, they’re one of the few creatures a basilisk fears.”
“Weasels aren’t exactly large critters, though, and this snake is.”
“Won’t matter. If we can get hold of several, we could possibly drive the basilisk into a trap—one lined with mirrors.”
“Which of course leads to the obvious question—how the hell are we going to get hold of weasels at such short notice?”
And even if we could, how were we going to ensure they went after the basilisk rather than regular snakes?
“I’ll contact the association and see if they can give the name of a wrangler able to take on the job at short notice.”
Amusement twitched my lips. “A weasel wrangler? Such things exist?”
