The Burning by Susan Squires

on it with him.”
    “Then why would she have screamed?” the stranger pointed out.
    “Coulda been Molly what screamed,” someone in the crowd shouted.
    That clinched it for the squire. He whirled on her uncle. “Bring her to the coffee room at the Hammer and Anvil tomorrow at four sharp for questioning. You’ll be held responsible for any crimes she has committed, Brockweir,” he warned. Then he tapped his nose. “Or maybe I should take her into custody while we investigate.”
    “Lock ’er up!” the crowd yelled. “She did it!” And, “No one’s safe if she’s loose.”
    Ann looked wildly around. They could not lock her up, could they?
    Her uncle mustered his resources and drew himself up. “I shall keep her in at night, Fladgate, if you men need to feel safe from a slip of a girl that can’t weigh seven stone.”
    “Locks?” Fladgate challenged, glaring at Ann.
    “I’ll lock her in the nursery on the fourth floor.” Her uncle coughed and bent over. Ann stretched out a hand. Then he straightened, cradling his left elbow. “Fair?” he gasped.
    “Fair,” said the stranger behind her, though it was certainly none of his business. And it was as if that was the last word. The mob turned back, muttering. Fladgate ordered two of them to carry Molly’s body down the hill. Whyhadn’t they suspected the stranger of making up the man who ran away with her? Why did they suspect him of the killing, too?
    But she could not stop to speculate. Her uncle was looking paler and grayer by the moment. “Come, Uncle,” Ann said. “You should get home to the fire.”
    She turned to throw a thank-you at the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to have melted into the shadows. The unreality of the evening washed over her, taking her strength with it. Her knees half buckled. But she couldn’t give in to weakness. Uncle Thaddeus had to make it down the hill. She looked around and picked up a branch of elm he could use as a staff. He couldn’t lean on her.
    “Here, Uncle,” she whispered. “Let’s go home.” She held out the staff. “Can you make it?” He was gasping still, and his skin looked clammy.
    He nodded, clutching his arm to his side. “I can make it back to the carriage. Jennings will drive us round to the house.”
    They made their tortuous way down the branch of the path that led to the tavern. Jennings was walking the horses up and down Cheddar’s only street. From inside the tavern raucous voices relived the adventure, well lubricated with ale and brandy.
    Jennings gathered Uncle Thaddeus into the carriage and then stood back as Ann climbed up. “Get us home and then go straight for Dr. Denton, Jennings,” she whispered.
    The blackness drained away, leaving Stephan farther up the Gorge. There was still time to search tonight. He watched the torches of the mob wind down toward the tavern.
    Damn his weakness! He should have lunged for the vampire immediately. It was sheer softness on his part that he hadn’t liked to kill the creature in front of that girl. The onlyway to kill a vampire was not pretty. He could have suggested her mind forget the memory afterward. Only it didn’t work sometimes, if the mind was horrified enough. Sometimes the memories came seeping through, destroying sanity. How had he allowed her to influence him? Was it that she was so tiny and ethereal? Her great gray eyes and that halo of white-blonde hair made her look fragile, unable to sustain such a brutal shock.
    He shook his head in disgust. What did he care for her sanity? His duty was to eradicate Callan Kilkenny and the vampires he was making. He had shirked his duty. True, he hadn’t wanted to kill them one at a time, but better that than that the one tonight go back and tell his fellows the Harrier was hot on their trail. Would they remove from the area? Would he have to wait until more cases of “influenza” showed up in some other far location?
    Still, they had been in this area for some time.