Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Scene 1:
It was a dark and stormy night.

As chance would have it, it was also a Dark and Stormy Knight. The thing hanging from the ceiling by one ankle and spinning gently as it cursed and struggled against its bonds, that is.

You'd be stormy, too, if you'd been snared and trussed up like a hog on Solstice.

This particular armour-clad bugaboo had been dubbed 'the Dark and Stormy Knight' by our daring gang of supernatural sleuths and their beloved mascot, Lucy, that inimitable Cavalier King Charles spaniel.

"Gotcha!" The broad shouldered, barrel-chested de facto leader of said gang exclaimed.

His name is not quite as well known as that of the brave troop's canine companion, but it has graced many a headline and heroic photo-op over the years. Indeed, Simon Snow Salisbury has long played a very integral role in the mystery-solving quartet calling itself Enigma Ltd. as its Chief Dangerous Object-Wielder, Trap Setter, and Mask Remover.

There was a different kind of mask to remove on this particular night. (Knight?) That's because the Dark and Stormy Knight was wearing a helmet and a beaver. (No, not that kind of beaver.) (No, not that kind of beaver, either.) (This is a family show.)

In order to remove the helmet, the Knight first had to be lowered to Simon's five foot ten inch height. The trusty Penelope "Penny" Bunce, that famed young genius was of course on hand to cut the rope at the source, sending the Knight careening to the museum floor below with a clanking, metallic thud.

As Simon stepped up to remove the Knight's helm, Penny appeared at his side, pushing her tortoiseshell cat's eye glasses up her nose with the air of a tried and true know-it-all.

"Now, let's find out who's really been terrorising the museum!" Simon said, pulling off the Knight's helmet. Or, trying to pull off his helmet. It was, as previously established, attached to the Knight's beaver, and refused to budge.

In frustration, Simon was forced to settle for raising the helmet's visor.

As the Knight's eyes and forehead and true identity were revealed, Simon, Penelope, and Lucy exclaimed in a shocked chorus: "Old Man Withers?!"

Though Lucy's exclamation sounded more like "Rold Ran Rithers," because she's a dog.

Agatha Wellbelove, Lucy's owner, did not exclaim anything, because she was still gagged.

Penny held up the chubby pointer finger of her right hand, which sported a large, antique amethyst stone mounted on a thick gold band, and tucked her left arm behind her back. She took a long breath and began. "Just as I suspected. You see, Old Man Withers discovered that the abandoned platinum mine located directly beneath the museum might have been empty of platinum, but was in fact chock full of…well, chalk. Which, as we all know, when left unrefined can fetch an exorbitant price on the Blackboard Market. Old Man Withers stood to gain a fortune as long as he could make sure that no one discovered his illegal chalk mining operation.

"But when the museum decided to install its Immersive Paris Catacombs Experience(™) exhibition in the exact spot he had discovered the chalk deposits, he concocted an elaborate scheme to frighten off the museum crews and force them to scrap their plans. He stole the suit of armour from the museum's Immersive Crusades Experience(™) and started leaving sinister, chalk-coated footprints all over the museum floors while working his normal shift as a security guard."

Penelope stopped to take another, self-satisfied breath. "It was the tic-tac-toe games he played on his shift each night that gave him away. The X's and O's were always made in the same patterns we saw drawn in chalk down in the abandoned platinum mine."

"And I would have gotten away with it, too," shouted Old Man Withers, "if it wasn't for you meddling kids!"

"Who're you calling a kid?" Penny cried, indignantly. "I'm nineteen!"

"I'm thirty," Old Man Withers said.

Simon, wisely, lowered his visor.

Penny moved aside to call the museum authorities.

Lucy barked triumphantly, bounding about the museum floor, thinking about the treats she was owed for another job well done.

Agatha struggled against her bonds and attempted to scream for help.

Simon dashed to her side, kneeling over her supine form and producing a sword which he'd nicked from the Dark and Stormy Knight's suit of armour. He quickly sliced through the ropes wrapped around her arms, legs, wrists, and ankles, then gingerly untied her gag and helped her to sit up.

"Simon," Agatha said. "I think we should break up."

Scene 2:
"Come on, Ags," Simon whined into his mobile, "I promise you, absolutely no sleuthing."

Agatha sighed on the other end. "I'm sorry, Simon, I just can't believe that. You don't go to Whitby on Halloween unless you're asking to be drained by a real 'un-alive' vampire."

"There won't be any vampires there!"

"You just said that they're trying to set the world's record for most vampires gathered in the town!"

"I mean, there won't be any real ones," Simon said quietly.

"Real or imaginary makes no difference to me. I'll still be the one who gets locked in a coffin while you and Penny chase a costumed lunatic through a series of increasingly convoluted traps."

"We won't!" Simon insisted. "You won't. We're just going up for the weekend. Penny wants to try out her new cape and I want to see all the vampires. It won't be the same without you. We always get together for Halloween. It's tradition!"

"Simon, we're not a couple anymore."

"I know," he said, though he sounded slightly dejected at the reminder. "I'm not asking you to come as my date. I'm asking you to come as my friend."

"I hate vampires," Agatha complained.

"I know," Simon said again. "But Penelope says Whitby has lots of local interest that doesn't involve vampires."

Agatha scoffed. "Thanks, but I'm not really into Penny's idea of local interest. Last time, she took me to an interactive mediaeval torture chamber."

Simon snorted. "I won't tell Penny you feel that way."

"Tell her! She never listens, anyway."

"Come with us," Simon tried one last time.

"I'm sorry, Simon. I already have plans with Minty and Ginger."

"Minty and ginger? What're you making? Biscuits? Will you save me some?"

"The people, Simon," Agatha sighed in exasperation. "My friends, Minty and Ginger."

Simon laughed. "I was only teasing."

"I'm hanging up now," Agatha warned. "Goodbye, Simon," she said.

And she hoped she meant it this time. Not just in the way you say goodbye when hanging up a phone, but in the way you say goodbye to mean 'please stop calling me'.

Scene 3:
It was a cold and crisp day in the seaside town of Whitby, North Yorkshire—a place made famous by, among other historical happenings, the 1897 publication of Bram Stoker's Dracula, whose titular vampire continues to this day to terrorise the town.

His terror on the cloudy, grey morning in question took the form of a plague of tourists descending upon its shore from all over the world, caked in white makeup, spattered with dried fake blood, and cloaked in red satin-lined costume capes.

And those were just the goths.

It was Thursday and Halloween was still three days away. So was the attempt for the Guinness world record for the largest gathering of people dressed as vampires.

The energy of the town was already teeming with anticipation, both for the world record, and also for Halloween.

Agatha, however, was teeming with annoyance for Simon and Penelope, and disappointment for herself.

She wasn't supposed to be here, in the goth capital of the UK for its stupid vampire weekend. (No, not that Vampire Weekend.) (They were booked and to be quite frank, we didn't have it in the budget.)

Agatha was supposed to be at Minty's right now, prepping for the very epic Halloween party taking place there on Sunday.

She was supposed to be eating tacos and baking vegan cupcakes (not mint and ginger cupcakes, thank you very much) and doing gel manis and dressing up.

Her bunny costume wouldn't even make sense now, not without Ginger in her black catsuit and Minty's "I'm a mouse, duh!" (They had conceived of the coordinating outfits on the third of October during their annual rewatch of Mean Girls for Agatha's birthday.)

She was supposed to spend Halloween far, far away from Whitby and Enigma Ltd. and all the dangers they presented to her, personally.

Simon and Penny never got tied up or trapped at the bottom of a well rapidly filling with water or turned into a magician's assistant and sawn in half. (She was still puzzling over that one.)

Simon and Penny liked adventure and mystery.

They liked her dog. Agatha was pretty certain they liked her dog more than they liked her. (She couldn't even fault them for it. She'd always preferred animals to people. And Lucy was quite a special animal.)

Simon and Penny liked danger, even though they were never the ones in danger.

And that was the problem. She was always the one in danger, even when she didn't take part in solving the mystery. The fucking monsters just couldn't leave her alone.

They saw a beautiful woman and they became possessed of an irresistible urge to twirl their moustaches and tie her to the railway tracks. Unless they didn't have moustaches, then they twirled their hair, or their parasols, or their canes, or they grew moustaches for the express purpose of twirling them nefariously. (That's what had happened during the case of the Hirsute Haberdasher.)

But then Ginger got sick from a bad batch of beetroot juice and Minty convinced herself that Ginger had gotten sick on purpose, because she was jealous that Minty was having a big party with so many friends.

By the time Ginger and Minty had finished tearing into each other, the party was cancelled and the room looked like a crime scene. (That's because it was covered in beetroot juice.)

With no party to attend and her friends no longer on speaking terms, Agatha knew if she stayed in London, she was going to get drawn into the drama, and she refused to take sides or encourage their childish behaviour.

Which meant that she was now standing in the Whitby rail station, encouraging Simon and Penelope's childish behaviour.

At least Penny had shown enough restraint to save her new cape (which she said was an exact replica of one belonging to the legendary Stevie Nicks) for Halloween, unlike most of the vampire groupies who were already skulking around.

"Wicked!" Simon exclaimed as he took in a passing group of plastic-fanged wannabes that would have made Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way proud.

"Ugh," Agatha groaned, rolling her eyes. She'd never understood her ex-boyfriend's preoccupation with cheesy movie monsters.

Enigma Ltd. had been formed to investigate and debunk supernatural mysteries, but none of their years of work in the field had tempered Simon's enthusiasm for the pointy-toothed blood drinkers of myth. Agatha had barely survived his twilight phase with her sanity (and her neck) intact.

Beside her, Penelope also groaned in disgust. "I bet none of these people have even read Dracula!"

"Have you?" Agatha asked in surprise. Penny had never shown any interest in vampires before.

Penelope sniffed dismissively. "Dracula is a literary classic. It would be remiss to form one's own conclusions about vampires without understanding the social context in which each generation of the myth has been propagated. For instance—"

Agatha immediately stopped listening, but Penny didn't notice.

"Are we going to the hotel right now?" Simon asked. "Or can we stop somewhere to get a bite?" He chuckled and nudged Penelope with his elbow. "A bite."

"Oh my god," Agatha moaned miserably. "Please tell me you're not going to be like this the entire weekend."

Simon frowned at her.

"Rite!" Was Lucy's vote from where she was tucked under Agatha's arm. "Rite! Rite! Rite!" She chanted.

"Lucy's on my side," Simon said smugly.

"Lucy is always on your side," Agatha said.

"Rot rue!" Lucy objected.

"Hotel!" Penny nearly shouted to be heard over the circus quickly unfolding in front of her. "I want to drop off my things and get settled in before we decide where to explore first. There are so many fascinating tidbits of history and culture to soak up. The abbey, the museum, the cemetery—"

"The kitchen," Simon supplied helpfully. "I'm starving!"

Lucy barked her approval of this suggestion. Lucy was, in fact, usually on Simon's side.

They were within sight of a Thai restaurant, the station pub, and the station tea room.

"Simon, you had a sandwich and a packet of crisps on the train," Penelope reminded him.

"And now I'm hungry again," Simon said. "It was five bloody hours! I was nearly gnawing on the seats."

Indeed, he was so distressed, he hadn't even stopped to be amused by his use of the word 'bloody'.

"How are you not both wasting away?" He asked.

"We also ate on the train," Agatha replied.

Simon looked unconvinced.

"Hotel," Penny insisted. "They're sending a car to fetch us."

Simon grumbled.

He kept grumbling (and so did his stomach) after the hotel car picked them up and proceeded to drive past a Greggs and a Chinese takeaway and then crossed into some kind of alternate dimension where nary a single chip shop, pub, or café was to be found.

He pressed his forehead to the car window, feeling like he was going to his doom.

No wonder the hotel owners had offered them free accommodations. They probably couldn't get anyone mad enough to stay there willingly if this was the sort of treatment they were meant to endure.

Scene 4:
Simon had been telling the truth when he asked Agatha to join him and Penelope in Whitby for the vampire weekend. They had no intention of solving any mysteries during their stay.

As it happened, the whole plan had come together because of an invitation from the couple who owned one of the bed and breakfasts in town. Being able to boast the attendance of Enigma Ltd. would be a boon to the couple's business, and was sure to draw much needed publicity to the world record attempt on Halloween.

The bed and breakfast owners had been so keen, they'd even promised to waive their no pet policy for Lucy.

"Here we are," Penny announced, looking up at the brick face of an establishment whose front windows proclaimed it had been erected in AD 1881.

"Where are we?" Simon asked. "A church?"

Penelope rolled her eyes. "The B&B."

"Are you sure it's a B&B?" Simon asked. "It looks like a church."

"Simon, other side of the street."

"Oh!" He said, spinning around and seeing another large, old building that only looked mildly less church-like than the one across the way.

"'The Belfry,'" Simon read on the plaque as he walked up the grey, stone steps. He turned to Agatha, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "You suppose it's called that because they have ba—"

"No," Agatha sighed, pushing past him.

Simon frowned. He had an arsenal of vampire jokes saved up for the three nights and three days they were spending in Whitby, and by god, he was going to use them. Even if Agatha was determined to be a spoilsport.

He joined the others inside.

They were greeted cordially by the owners, but it wasn't quite the warm welcome Simon expected. It wasn't that he felt any fuss needed to be made on their account, but he couldn't ignore the distinct air of tension and uneasiness that permeated the check-in process.

He wasn't the only one.

Penelope caught his eye more than once with a significant look that demanded confirmation he was picking up on the same vibes she was.

Neither one of them looked at Agatha. It had been hard enough to convince her to come along, and if she left now, she took Lucy with her. And even though the invitation had been for Enigma Ltd., both Simon and Penny knew perfectly well that meant 'Lucy and company'.

Besides, there was no need to trouble Agatha with what could prove specious suspicions and potentially ruin her whole weekend when her original plans had already fallen through.

Unfortunately, Agatha seemed keen to make up for the loss of Minty and Ginger and began interrogating the B&B owners, not about possible paranormal goings on, but about local spa services.

Penelope didn't try to hide her annoyance or her impatience, but Agatha, with skill honed through many years of practise, entirely ignored Penny's not-so-subtle hints that she wanted to move along.

Simon was fearful that his two friends were going to end up in a heated confrontation, before he happened upon the perfect solution for breaking up the tension: his stomach growled. And grumbled. And gurgled, like a disgruntled troll under a bridge.

Upon hearing the obscene demonstration, Penelope and Agatha turned to look at him in shock—as if this was entirely unexpected despite Simon's earlier insistence that he was wasting away from the lack, to say nothing of all previous anecdotal evidence in support of his claim.

Not to be outdone by his own stomach, the man himself groaned with impressive vigour. "I told you I was starving!" Simon whined, scrubbing at his brown curls. He used his considerable shoulders to push between Penny and Agatha, leaning his full weight on the front desk. "Do you have a restaurant here?" He asked, as politely as he could manage, under the dire and worsening circumstances.

His belly was a mawing chasm inside of him.

The woman behind the desk smiled tightly. "Of course, Mr. Sno—alisbury."

People were still getting used to the family name. (So was Simon.) He'd already asked her to call him by his first name, but apparently, that wasn't acceptable here.

"Our dining room is open every morning from eight to nine-thirty for breakfast, to allow our guests—"

"Breakfast," Simon cut in, nodding somewhat absentmindedly as he digested the information. (At least there was something for him to digest, even if it was only information. Sadly, man cannot live on information alone and it was already pushing four o'clock in the afternoon.)

"Oh, but you'll be in the Servant's Quarters," the woman continued.

"That figures," Simon muttered under his breath.

"That's one of our self-catered accommodations. It comes with a fully-fitted kitchen" —Simon's ears, head, and whole body perked up at that— "which you're free to stock however you see fit during the length of your stay."

Simon drooped again. As he lowered his head, his blue eyes drifted over a pair of cross-eyed brown ones, equally as soulful as his own. Lucy was panting up at him, expectantly. Was that hope in her gaze?

He bent down and scooped her up.

Feeling the tug on her lead, Agatha turned around. "Lucy!"

Simon squared his shoulders. "You two can finish checking in. Lucy and I are going to find food."

Agatha took Lucy by her collar, and Penelope took Simon by his.

"Not on your own," Penny chided.

"And not with my dog," Agatha added. "You'll spoil her with something greasy and then she won't eat her actual dinner."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Hurry it up, then, yeah? Can't the questions wait until after we've eaten?"

Agatha groaned. "How did I date you for three years?"

Simon scowled. "There's no need for personal attacks!"

She rolled her eyes.

"Ralk!" Lucy barked.

Their hosts' eyes widened and their mouths followed suit.

"Did she—?"

"Was that—?"

Agatha looked down at her dog, sternly. "Lucy, do you actually need a walk or is this a poorly concealed ploy to get food?"

Lucy took a beat too long to reply, eyes wide and innocent. She rolled them side to side. "Roth?"

"Fine," Agatha huffed, handing her over to Simon. "But if she gets an upset stomach," she said to him, "she's sleeping in your room tonight."

Simon squinted at her. "C'mon, Luce," he said, setting the little dog down on her own two feet. "We don't need these bad vibes."

"Rad ribes," Lucy echoed.

The two of them set off back through the front door, the bell above it (ironically the only bell on the premises) dinging out a cheery little farewell.

Penny turned back to the couple behind the desk and found them gaping after Simon and Lucy.

The two of them did tend to have that effect on new people.

Scene 5:
The sun was already dipping rapidly to meet the horizon and the daylight was being pulled along with it.

A sharp wind whipped up to meet Simon and Lucy at the door. Lucy barked into it and tried to nip it in her teeth. Simon chuckled.

"Get it, Luce!" He encouraged.

She flashed him a goofy grin.

"Chips?" He asked.

She panted and barked. "Rips!"

They started out on Crescent, Lucy following the buffet of smells laid out before her. Simon walked idly by her side, confident she'd lead them to the best that Whitby had to offer.

In their course, the two passed several rather excitable groupings of goths.

What do you call a group of goths, anyway? Simon wondered to himself. A grave? An invasion? A pallor?

Most of the younger people recognised Simon and Lucy instantly. They were stopped frequently for selfies and received more than one invitation to parties happening later that night and all throughout the weekend.

"Are you guys here for Dracula?" One bright and smoky-eyed teen asked them, her skin pale as a waifish Victorian street urchin on the verge of dying from consumption.

"Partly," Simon admitted. "We were invited to be part of the world record on Sunday."

"Oh," another kid said, "you mean, no one's told you?"

Simon frowned in confusion. Lucy returned the expression.

"Told us what?"

"Drac's here!" The first teen said. "Like, really here."

"Yeah! There've been sightings all over town."

"What kind of sightings?" Simon asked.

"Weird noises. Lights. There's a creepy big dog running round."

"Reepy rog?" Lucy asked, tilting her head.

"Holy shit," one of the goths breathed. "She really fucking talks!"

There was an exclamation around the group.

"Bunch of young fools!" A cracked and wavering old voice bellowed.

Simon turned to look across the road with all the others. There was on old man standing there, stooping over and shaking his fist at them. "Go home, the lot of you! Never had any trouble round these parts 'fore the likes of you showed up."

The goths standing with Simon booed and the old man booed back. "If you know what's good for ya, you'll clear outta this town 'fore he comes for you!"

A jeering chorus of "ooohs" went up all around.

Simon wanted to ask the old man what he was talking about but decided that shouting across the street with his own Greek chorus of disaffected teens probably wasn't the best opportunity for an interview.

Simon jerked his chin and Lucy took the hint. They changed course a bit, ducking out of the confrontation before anyone noticed their retreat.

"So, what do you think?" Simon asked. "Is there a Dracula haunting the town? Is he going to come for us?"

"Racula," Lucy grumbled dismissively. "Rake!"

"Rake?" Simon repeated. "Oh! Fake! Dracula's fake!"

"Reah!"

"Maybe. But the vampire myth had to come from somewhere, didn't it?" Simon asked.

Lucy was unconvinced. "Roises?" She asked, incredulous. "Rights?"

Simon laughed. "Didn't sound all that damning, did it?"

They continued to debate as they walked on, a bit aimlessly, looking out for a spot of green for Lucy and a good place to get takeaway for both of them.

They came upon a pub that advertised itself as being dog friendly but as he looked closer, Simon saw with horror that the pub invited diners to bring their own fish and chips!

"Bring my own?" He cried out, voice rising in octave. He had to tamp down the unutterable rage and sadness it provoked deep in his heart. "This place isn't dog friendly. It isn't even people friendly! It'd serve them right if ol' Drac was haunting the place."

Lucy gave a low whine of agreement and they continued down the pavement toward salvation in the form of something golden brown and fried.

They didn't find it.

But something else found them.

They had only gone a few hundred yards south on Belle Vue Terrace when, out of the corner of his eye, Simon caught his first glimpse of the stately and sepulchral remains of the famous Whitby Abbey looming proudly against the deepening gloom of the evening. It seemed so foreboding and yet Simon found himself transfixed by the sight.

He wondered what centuries of secrets it could yet be hiding.

He walked on, drawn toward the ancient site, without marking his steps through a small lane that ran past yet another very old looking church. (He was beginning to sense a theme.)

For one moment, he thought he could spy a ghostly white figure in one of the windows. It seemed to be beckoning to him. Which was nonsense because he was much too far away for anything in that window to see him.

A burst of light in the distance startled him and he blinked and gasped. Refocussing his gaze across the river, he saw that it had been some kind of pyrotechnic explosion, just in that very spot where the figure had been.

It was followed swiftly by another, and another, and then the whole view was consumed in coloured, strobing lights. These were accompanied by some ghoulish sounding screams and various other eerie sounds.

Simon laughed. "I reckon they've turned the abbey into a haunted house!" He exclaimed, thoroughly taken with the prospect. "Do you think Dracula is a Halloween enthusiast?" He nudged Lucy with the side of his leg.

Lucy let out a kind of rasping laugh.

"Those kids almost had me going, I'll admit," he chuckled, turning away at long last and heading south on Silver Street. "Guess they knew we'd be easy targets."

Lucy harrumphed. "Rot reasy!"

"Okay, okay! Just me then."

As if to prove his point, a large, floating black figure materialised out of the darkness behind them.

Lucy's head perked up, having just caught a new scent.

"What d'you smell, Luce?" Simon asked.

"Rish er rips!" She announced.

Simon smiled. "Lead on!"

Lucy led on.

They had nearly achieved their goal when she stopped suddenly and let out a little whine. A large, unkempt black dog had moved like a spectre out of the shadows to stand directly in their path.

Its eyes glowed under the street lamps and seemed to glint with menace.

Simon immediately bent down to scoop Lucy up into his arms. She was barely a quarter of the other dog's size.

The dog pulled back its lips and bared its slavering fangs with a deep growl that burst into a series of sharp barks.

Lucy barked back, several small, judgemental yaps, and then stopped. Slowly, she turned her head, sensing something was wrong.

"Ruck!" She barked.

Simon rucked. I mean, ducked.

A large flying thing zoomed past overhead, far too close for Simon's comfort.

As soon as it was clear, Simon raised his head, but didn't stand fully, wary of a repeat attack.

The large flying thing appeared to be some kind of black garbed figure, roughly humanoid in its shape, with an eerily pale white face, glowing red eyes, and long, dripping fangs. It held what must have been arms out at its sides, the limbs terminating in clawed hands bearing razor sharp talons. From these the billowing black garment draped down like a pair of bat wings that nearly came to a point where the creatures feet would have been, if it had them. Instead, the figure seemed to fade into nothingness—like it was only partially corporeal.

"What the fuck?" Simon muttered.

He decided he was not the only person seeing this apparition when all of the other people on the street around him started screaming and pointing, torn between wanting to run away and wanting to get a closer look.

The creature let out a long, shrill cry of something that sounded like murder, and every dog within hearing began barking and howling madly—including the one who had been hassling Simon and Lucy just before this creature appeared.

Lucy whimpered at the horrible noises and tried to cover her ears with her paws.

"It's him!" Cried someone in the crowd of onlookers.

"Dracula!" Another shrieked.

Content to take this as its cue, the creature spread its bloodied lips, opened its sharp, pointed teeth, and spoke in an icy, inhuman voice.

"Cower!" The creature hissed. It seemed impossible a voice like that could carry so well, but it was almost as if the words were being spoken directly into the ears of everyone present. "Cower mortals and flee! Flee before me! You dare to tarnish the great name of Dracula with your little amusements? You dare to trespass upon his ancient seat? Fools! The abbey is no place for you! Leave it! Or you will be made to know the power of my name! Beware! Each day my terror grows by the light of the moon! All who do not serve the Count shall perish! My house will rise again upon that hallowed hill and wreak a curse upon your town! You shall fall into eternal darkness!"

The creature calling itself Dracula concluded its threat with a piercing wail of a laugh that seemed to echo off all the buildings in the vicinity. It blew out several of the street lamps, as if to make good on his final threat, though the sun hadn't fully set and ruined the overall effect.

"They always have a good laugh," Simon said. "Though as threats go, it's a bit derivative. So much melodrama."

Dracula's laughter suddenly cut off and a spasm ran through the creature's form. It wrenched its head back down and locked its glowing red eyes on Simon's blue ones.

"No fool shall mock Count Dracula and live!"

Simon rolled his eyes. "Right. Hold on, Lucy," he said.

Lucy held on.

Simon didn't know what this creature had to throw at him, but he wasn't going to stand around and wait for it.

"Clear the street!" He shouted, seconds before the Count literally threw something at him.

It was bats. Swarms of them, flapping and screeching, pouring like a plague from the Count's cape.

Fuck me, Simon thought, as he spun around and ducked once more, this time trying to also run back the way he had come. Guess I found the bats after all.

They streamed past him, snagging at his hair and arms and tee shirt. He wished he'd worn a jacket, because he could have used the extra cover. And he could have tucked Lucy into it.

What he needed was a weapon.

What he needed was to find cover and then a weapon. Any weapon would do.

Simon spotted the last side street they had passed on their way down and veered left, careening around the corner. Like homing pigeons, the bats still came, but he couldn't run properly while cowering, and right now, running was the top priority.

Simon had a sword back at the B&B, but it wouldn't do him any good now.

He needed a shield and something he could swing. Preferably something long and heavy and very effective at batting aggressively winged things out of the sky.

He wasn't picky. A Scrabble board, an animal head mounted on a wooden plaque, a garden hose. They'd all come in handy over the years.

Simon and Lucy reached the end of the road and veered left again. Simon didn't know where he was going at this point, but away seemed like the best option, and it didn't matter what direction that was.

Unfortunately, away wasn't as easy as it should have been because, as he learned very shortly, the bats were not the only thing that had given chase.

Dracula himself—or the thing calling itself Dracula—soared back into view. It must have gone up over the buildings to cut him off. He had no idea why he was the lucky winner of personal pursuit by flying fiend, but such seemed to be his lot in life.

"You want to fight me?" He called out.

Monsters didn't usually like being verbally taunted or challenged to a physical confrontation, particularly when they had drawn a large crowd, which this one had done.

There were plenty more people on this street to point and whisper and scream and run away in fear.

Dracula gave another piercing shriek.

Lucy whined and trembled in Simon's grasp. She wasn't scared, but she could have done without all the noise. Her sharp canine ears did not appreciate this Dracula's posturing.

"Bring it on, fang face!" Simon growled.

The bats from Dracula's earlier assault were still swarming around them in a cloud of small, black projectiles, but Simon had already seen what they could do, and apart from keeping his fingers crossed that neither he nor Lucy developed rabies, the bats didn't seem to be as hell bent on tearing them to pieces as Dracula probably wanted.

If Dracula actually wanted to intimidate Simon, he was going to have to throw a lot more than flying mammals at him. Perhaps he was jaded, but bats were hardly the most terrifying thing he had encountered today, let alone over the course of his career as a paranormal sleuth.

(He was a good deal more concerned with the fact that Dracula seemed determined to come between him and a nice big pile of chips.)

Dracula, apparently getting the gist, reared back from his position floating in the sky and dived down, his claw-like hands reaching for Simon.

Lucy jumped. Simon rolled. Dracula missed.

Simon and Lucy locked eyes from either side of the road and gave each other reassuring nods. Then they both took off running again.

Their main goal right now was to keep Dracula's ire focussed on them and away from all the innocent bystanders, who really should have been running for their lives instead of bystanding and gawping like the fish in a barrel they were.

This time, Dracula tried a new assault: fireballs.

Or at least what looked like fireballs until they hit the ground and loudly burst into bright light and thick, colourful clouds of dark purple smoke.

"Flash powder, fireworks," Simon muttered to himself, as he came to a halt before running directly into the next projectile and swerved around it. "Fireballs. You're all the same!"

Just to his right was yet another church. It was in a storefront, tucked in amongst the shops, but it would do in a pinch.

Simon wrenched open the door and attempted to corral some of the deer in headlights in from the street, but Dracula was there, sweeping in after him.

"What the fuck?" Simon groaned. "Aren't you supposed to like, burn up or something?"

Simon couldn't quite remember the exact vampire versus church lore, but no one had invited the monster inside, and that much he did know should have kept a vampire out. Dracula didn't seem to care, though, just hissed in his face. Simon swung the door back and smacked the vampire in the head with it.

As soon as he was back out on the street, something promising in the window display of a junk shop caught his eye and he dashed inside, waved an apology to the stooped figure behind the till, grabbed an unsettlingly large wooden crucifix in his left hand and an old cane in his right, and dashed back out, wincing at the objections being shouted at him by the shopkeeper.

Simon charged at Dracula, who was still in pursuit, brandishing the crucifix—which was at least as long as Simon's torso—high above his head, as the creature swooped down close.

It didn't have any effect.

Dracula, annoyed at the affront, grabbed the crucifix from Simon's hand and yanked it away, screaming into his face. Simon struck him over the head with the cane.

That did have an effect. The resounding crack and jolt through Simon's arm at the impact put a wide grin on his face. This was getting fun.

Dracula roared in shock and anger and reeled away.

Simon knew he would only have a matter of seconds before the fiend recovered, so cane in hand, he looked about for another option.

There weren't any forthcoming, but he found he now had the distinct advantage of being in pursuit of Dracula, instead of the other way around.

The flying creature didn't seem to know what to make of this silly mortal man bearing down upon him while swinging a cane about like a lightsaber.

When they reached the end of the street, there was a crowd of people huddled, all holding their phones out to get a shot of the madness unfolding around them.

Dracula did not seem to appreciate being recorded without first granting his consent and veered off his escape course to express his opinions to them in vivid detail at very close range.

Just then, a small, curly-eared dog wearing very convincing Dracula fancy dress, complete with a red-lined, high-collared cape, broke through the crowd and began viciously yapping at the other, flying Dracula.

"Lucy!" Simon cried. "Where on earth did you get a vampire costume?"

Lucy did not stop to answer him, so he let that particular mystery drop in favour of the one lifting its arm to toss another flash powder projectile in the direction of the spaniel.

"Oh no, you don't!" Simon roared, dodging in front of Lucy, who, in spite of her stylish new outfit, had come back to the fight unarmed.

Lucy had, in fact, found herself beset upon by what was left of Dracula's bat army, and had doubled back to Silver Street, figuring correctly that if the bats had come from that street, it would probably be free of them.

She had caught sight of the creepy, demonic looking dog from before and been distracted in attempting to trail it.

That hadn't gone to plan, because the dog had sniffed her out quickly and it had not been pleased to see her again.

Head down, ears tucked back, she had barrelled her way to the end of the road, where, like a glowing beacon of hope, she found herself outside of a doggy bakery.

The shopkeeper had opened the door to her, astounded to see this very famous, but panicked canine panting at the door. She had just managed to evade the jaws of the demon dog in hot pursuit.

Inside, Lucy was treated to a sampling of the best the shop had to offer, happily posed for the dog selfie wall, gave out a few paw prints, and was gifted her very own Dracula costume, which the store had stocked specially for Halloween. Just because the world record only counted humans dressed up as vampires didn't mean the canines couldn't also get in on the fun.

She left with a full belly and a ten percent off coupon card tucked into her collar.

She didn't think Simon of all people would fault her for the delay, but she didn't have time to explain at the moment, considering he was defending her from a Drac attack.

Simon swung the cane again, but Dracula managed to dodge it this time, and still let off the explosion of smoke near enough to the crowd of viral TikTok hopefuls that they all broke into fits of vicious coughing.

Simon felt around for Lucy, but came up empty time and again, until the smoke was too much for him to bear and he had to get clear in order to stay conscious. His eyes were watering and they made everything blurry, but when he was finally clear of the dark purple smoke, he was pretty sure that one tiny, wriggling Dracula was growling and tugging at the cape hem of another Dracula with her teeth.

"You get 'im, Luce!" Simon cheered.

Lucy turned slightly to give him what he thought was meant to be a cheeky grin around the cape she was still biting.

"Just keep him still," Simon said, rolling his head, pulling back his his shoulders, and squaring up with the cane.

He thought he saw real fear in the monster's glowing red eyes and he hoped he had put it there.

Just then, another dog burst onto the scene. The same demon dog from before, with its scraggly, curling black hair, and evil-filled eyes.

It was charging right for Lucy, and it wasn't going to stop.

Simon had a split second to think. He didn't want to brain the other animal, in spite of its obvious lack of control. His only other choice was to let Dracula go and get Lucy out of the way.

He dropped the cane, grabbed Lucy, and went crashing into the doorway of yet another church. (What was it with this town?)

Simon didn't find salvation sprawled on the steps of that church, but Dracula did, dispensing one final puff of smoke, and vanishing.

The demon dog stood there barking and growling while Simon attempted to catch his breath. Then, as if a spell had been lifted, the business of the street resumed, and the demon dog blinked and slinked back into the shadows whence it came.

"Well, Lucy," Simon said, "it looks like we've got another mystery on our hands."

Scene 6:
The Servant's Quarters in The Belfry might have been rather unfortunately named, and lacking all manner of actual sustenance, but the kitchen was well-stocked with appliances and the suite was cosy, spacious, and inviting. (Though it would have been even more inviting if it could boast a single morsel or crumb.)

Their hosts showed Penny and Agatha into the room, which had a separate entry from the other accommodations, and then left them to get settled.

The three bedrooms were all large enough to sleep a couple—not that any of the trio were a couple anymore—but one of the bedrooms was clearly sized to be the master. Agatha claimed this for herself since she had Lucy to think of. Besides, she had really only come along to please the others, so it made sense she would get the larger bedroom in recompense.

"It doesn't matter," Penelope shrugged, simply ready to be done with the travel part of their day. Simon might throw a fuss about being edged out of the larger room, but he wasn't there to argue, so he could deal.

Simon and Agatha had been broken up for months, but this was the first time they'd spent several hours together since, and the little digs and snipes they'd been exchanging were probably inevitable. But that didn't mean Penny had to enjoy them.

There were far more important matters to consider. Like whether they should spend the rest of the evening planning their itinerary for the next three days, or start crossing items off the list immediately.

Penelope had done some investigating ahead of time, of course. It was a habit she had picked up after the first couple of paranormal encounters the gang had stumbled into. It was useful to do preparatory research before travelling to a new place, even if they weren't going there to solve a mystery. (They were usually going to solve a mystery, and even when they weren't, they almost always wound up solving a mystery anyway.)

She wondered if there could be a mystery waiting for them here.

The vibe from The Belfry owners had been hard to gauge. She knew Simon had picked up on something, but he didn't seem to know any better than she did what it meant.

People in the grips of a supernatural tormentor (or someone dressed up to look like a supernatural tormentor) weren't usually cagey about that fact. Not when they had the likes of the world famous Enigma Ltd. standing before them. Not even when Enigma Ltd. were their invited guests for a special event.

Supernatural tormentors had a way of scaring off customers, and therefore, scaring off business. That was a serious offence, and Penelope hadn't met an hotelier yet who hadn't eventually cracked under the pressure and begged for help.

Anyway, she wasn't inclined to be concerned about anything truly suspicious happening in Whitby until she saw tourists and townspeople alike fleeing in frightened droves.

She was concerned about the amount of time Agatha was planning to spend on her own, considering Penny had told Simon to invite Agatha as a means of helping them get past the awkward ex stage and get back to being friends.

She remembered Agatha and Simon as friends. She remembered it quite fondly, and had done so frequently in the years they had spent being very unhappily coupled.

Penelope hadn't wanted to say anything, but it had been affecting the whole team, and Enigma Ltd. had lost out on closing out more than one case because of stupid, interpersonal relationship drama.

She just hadn't considered that when Agatha and Simon did inevitably break up, Agatha would leave Enigma Ltd., too. That had been a blow Penny was still wrestling with.

"Well, so much for that!" Penelope heard Simon shout as the outer door banged back against the wall.

That sounded less than ideal.

Penny scraped her curly, dark brown hair up into a fresh ponytail, rubbed her glasses mostly smudge free on the hem of her pleated skirt, and checked the height of her knee socks before striding into action.

Agatha had beat her to the door.

"Simon," Agatha began carefully. "Why is my dog wearing a vampire cape?"

Lucy jumped happily from Simon's arms into Agatha's and began licking Agatha's face. "And why doesn't she reek of a chippy?"

Simon chuckled. "Lucy made quite a splash at the local dog bakery."

"Dog bakery?" Penelope repeated.

"Bakery for dogs," Simon clarified. "Not of dogs."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Yes, thank you for that."

Simon's stomach gurgled, cutting off his retort.

"Didn't you just eat?" Agatha asked.

Simon shrugged. "Never got around to it, actually. We...kept getting stopped. Lucy was very popular. She ate, sort of. Snacked. On whatever they had at the bakery."

Agatha frowned. So did Penelope.

Simon was not a good liar, and maybe Penny couldn't smell a chippy, but she could smell a rat.

Simon was definitely not giving them the full story.

His hair was, to put it charitably, severely windblown. The colour was high on his cheeks. He had set out in search of food, but hadn't obtained any. He was only telling them what Lucy had been up to since the last time they saw him. Also, there was a light in his eyes that only mayhem ever put there.

Penelope thought about the weird vibe from the B&B owners. She thought about Simon and Lucy's very long and storied history of creature encounters. She noted the fresh scrape along one of Simon's forearms that he was being careful not to wave around.

Penny handed Simon her phone. "Here."

He stared at it. "What's this?"

"My mobile," she said.

"Why are you handing it to me?" He tried again.

"Deliveroo," she said.

He looked perplexed, instead of ecstatic, which was the reaction she thought this announcement would elicit.

She added quietly, "you look like you've earned it."

Simon flinched, guilty. He cut his eyes to Agatha, who was trying to get Lucy to answer a single one of her questions. Then he turned back to Penelope and grinned at her gratefully.

"Deliveroo!" He crowed.

Lucy, picking up the magic word, soon joined in with a "Reliverooooo-oo-oo-oo-oo!" despite Agatha's efforts to quiet her.

Several rooms away, the owners of the B&B suddenly found they had very serious regrets about allowing a dog into their establishment.

But Enigma Ltd. wasn't Enigma Ltd. without the dog.

Which was, admittedly, part of the problem with Agatha no longer wanting anything to do with the mystery solving business. Just because Lucy liked it didn't mean that Simon and Penny could just show up at Agatha's to check Lucy out like a library book. (Which was, incidentally, how Agatha had described it the last time they'd tried.)

If Agatha found out that there was a dangerous vampire hurling bats and flash powder projectiles lurking around the town, she'd leave on the first train out. And she'd take Lucy with her.

And Lucy was indispensable when sniffing out a mystery.

Also, they all knew that Lucy was the only reason they'd been invited as special guests of The Belfry. Without Lucy, Simon and Penelope were liable to be kicked out. Or, worse, charged for their rooms.

It was nothing short of painfully awkward having to wait until Agatha went to bed that night to acknowledge the topic uppermost in both their minds, but Penelope and Simon did their very best to act casual, something neither one of them had ever excelled in.

If they kept their mouths busier than usual—Simon's with eating, Penny's with talking—Agatha didn't notice. Possibly because she always tuned out whenever Penelope opened her mouth.

With an early dinner sitting on her belly, Agatha was finding it hard to keep her eyes open. She was worn out from several late nights fielding distressed phone calls from Minty and Ginger, to say nothing of the day's five-hour train ride, and having to endure so much concentrated face time with Simon and Penny—in itself a feat worthy of Guinness, if you asked Agatha. (Not that anyone ever did.)

She retired early, and didn't even mind that Lucy stayed up in the common room with the others. She and Lucy had been putting in a lot more hours volunteering at the animal shelter now they weren't working with Enigma Ltd., and Lucy had earned herself the right to spend this holiday weekend however she pleased.

Even if she pleased to spend it in a vampire Halloween costume.

Penelope didn't even wait for Agatha's door to close all the way before she was immediately up from her chair and on the sofa next to Simon. "Spill!" She demanded.

Simon already had, because Penny's movement had jostled his Coke. He dabbed at the wet spot on his tee shirt uselessly with his hand, as if the absorption powers of his fingers had changed dramatically since the last time this had happened.

"Not like that," Penelope said.

Simon growled.

Penny started prodding him, using the back of her hand to nudge at his shoulder. "Come on, Simon! Out with it! I've been champing at the bit for hours!"

"Is it champing?" Simon asked, genuinely curious. "What is champing, anyway?"

"What I'm going to do to you if you don't tell me!" She said, snapping her teeth at him illustratively.

Simon laughed. He was kind of enjoying making Penelope sweat. It served her right, as bossy as she was. "Fine, fine."

Simon put down his Coke (too little, too late), bent one leg up onto the seat of the sofa, turned his body to face Penny, and told her. "There's a monster calling itself Count Dracula flying around town, sending out swarms of bats and shooting flash powder. He came after me and Lucy."

"Count Dracula?" Penelope asked with a scoff. "That's a bit on the nose."

"Don't tell him that," Simon said. "I don't think he'll take it well. I don't think he's the type to take anything well."

"What does this Count Dracula want then?"

"What do these monsters ever want?" Simon shrugged. "For everyone else to leave town."

"Did he say why?"

"He thinks the town is disrespecting him. He wants us to leave the abbey alone. He said his powers are getting stronger and if we don't cower or serve him or flee, then he's going to curse us all to eternal darkness."

"Huh," Penny said. "Sounds like a charming fellow."

"He had this demon dog with him, too."

"Remon rog," Lucy grumbled disparagingly.

"A demon dog?" Penelope asked.

"Well, it looked like it was possessed or something. It kept trying to go after Lucy. Then, as soon as Drac disappeared, the dog just…went on its way. It was like someone flipped a switch."

"Reepy," was Lucy's contribution.

"Yeah," Simon nodded. "Creepy."

Penny chewed on her cheek while she chewed over the information. "Why the abbey?" She asked. "It was just atmospheric setting in a novel. It's not like Dracula lived there! It's not like Dracula lived at all!"

She was starting to get herself worked up about literary and historical accuracy again. "Whoever is playing Dracula is doing a terrible job with the realism."

"Pen," Simon started, sounding uncertain.

"Hmm?"

"Do you reckon we ought to get involved?"

Penny looked at him in shock. "Do I reckon? Simon, you're already involved. What are you talking about? Of course we need to do something about this!"

"I agree!" He said quickly. "I just feel bad."

"Are you sick? Did you eat too much?"

"No! I mean I feel bad 'cause I promised Ags she wouldn't have to deal with any mysteries while we were here."

"Oh! Well, just don't tell her."

"Don't tell her?"

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her."

"I don't think that's quite…"

"Look. If Agatha doesn't know about Dracula, then she can't get involved, right? And if she's not involved, then there's nothing for her to know, and no reason for her to get herself into any kind of trouble."

"I don't think she usually tries to get herself into trouble," Simon reasoned.

"I don't think she needs to try," Penelope said. "She said she's got her whole day booked tomorrow. She won't even notice we're gone."

"Where are we going?" Simon asked.

A glint of mischief came into Penny's eyes as she answered. "Whitby Abbey, of course. To meet the infamous Count."

Simon shook his head, giving her a wry smile. "All right. But I'm going on record that I feel bad about this."

"Your feelings are noted for future posterity. Now." She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small memo pad and a biro. "Tell me everything you remember and don't leave out any of the details."

Simon recounted the encounter, Penelope stopping him now and then to ask a question for clarification. Lucy occasionally chimed in to provide her perspective.

When he got to the part about Dracula's flash powder, Penny fretted over all the samples she could have collected from the scene. At which point, Simon triumphantly drew a small glass phial from his jeans pocket.

Penelope hugged him like a kid on Christmas who had just been given the electron microscope of her dreams.

By the time they were done, Penny had filled several pages with very thorough notes made in her neat, cramped handwriting.

She mused over these, tapping the tip of the pen against her cheek, heedless of the dots of ink it left behind.

"I'll type these up tonight," she said, "and decide how best to organise our search tomorrow. But I do think the abbey makes the most sense."

"But why attack us? We weren't anywhere near it."

"I don't think that matters. This Dracula sounds like he lives for the drama and spectacle."

"More like dies for it," Simon said.

Penelope pressed on. "He wasn't going to get much of an audience at the abbey. He had to be in town for that."

Simon just nodded.

"Get some sleep," she told him with a squeeze to his arm. "We'll try and get an early start tomorrow."

Scene 7:
Simon often woke early, before the rest of the world was stirring. It had been his habit since he was a small child being passed from care home to foster home and back to care home. If he reached the table first, he got food first. And if he stayed until everyone else was done, he could eat all of the leftovers.

Simon had never allowed himself to feel shame over his eating habits. When he was hungry, he ate. And he ate until he wasn't hungry anymore.

Simon was always hungry.

He had a good life now. Friends who were like family—even if things were still a bit rocky with Agatha—a place in Enigma Ltd. doing something he liked that made him feel good doing it, and an actual family.

A grandmother. A grandmother who adored him and kept him on a constant rotation of sandwiches and cakes.

He was still getting used to it, but it was the good kind of change.

He pulled on an old hoodie and the same pair of jeans from the previous day and poked his head out of his bedroom door. No one else was awake, which suited him fine.

Breakfast at The Belfry wouldn't be served until eight, and they weren't entitled to it anyway. Apparently.

(In Simon's expert opinion, he didn't think you should legally be allowed to call yourself a 'bed and breakfast' if you were going to categorically deny breakfast privileges to some of your guests.) (All he was getting was a bed. He had yet to even see a belfry.)

Simon's main objective at the moment was to feel out the vibe from the locals, scout any convenient trap-setting locations, and secure a decent cuppa (and preferably a dozen scones).

There had to be locals and other tourists around who could provide him with more information about Dracula while he was out.

People were usually willing to talk to Simon.

He grabbed Lucy's lead off a coat hook by the door and very quietly called, "Lucy!"

Lucy was already wide awake and had been listening to Simon moving about as he got ready, anticipating what was coming next. She jumped down from her place at Agatha's feet to join him, running to the front door and then back to Simon. She stopped, placing her fore paws on his jeans and giving him a plaintive look, in case he was only taunting her with the sight of her lead in his hand. Her small body vibrated with excitement. She began chanting: "ralk ralk ralk!"

Simon tried to shush her before she woke up the others, but he couldn't help laughing. He was glad she hadn't let yesterday's events dull her enthusiasm. Although, she had spent the better part of their chase being fawned over and treated to all manner of doggy delicacies, so her perspective was bound to be skewed.

He clipped her lead to her collar—a wide, turquoise leather band with a diamond-shaped gold tag bearing her name—and opened the outer door as quietly as he could.

Together, like two intrepid explorers who had been battered, but never beaten, they struck out into the anaemic light of a grey dawn.

It was early on Friday. With schools on half term break, most of the other people they saw were headed in to work, and not in a mood to be stopped and questioned about strange dogs and eerie figures of white and malevolent floating vampires.

Whitby Goth Weekend was officially starting, and the town was sure to fill up more each day they got closer to Halloween. With Dracula out causing trouble, it was going to be up to Enigma Ltd. to solve the case before the big gathering at the abbey on Sunday afternoon.

Everyone's safety depended on it.

Simon took Lucy east the wrong way down Hudson Street and followed it until they came to East Terrace. At the turning, they got another clear view across the River Esk to the ruins of Whitby Abbey. It stood proud and foreboding against the backdrop of the dreary morning, towers still tall enough to snag their sharp edges on the belly of the clouds.

Though he didn't expect to see anything suspicious at this distance, especially in the light of day, Simon stood and observed it for several minutes, just to be sure. He'd nearly forgotten all about the figure in the window and the pyrotechnics until he related the story to Penny.

Lucy began to get impatient and tried to urge him on to resume their walk. She whined softly and Simon looked down, following her line of sight to his six.

There was a large black dog lurking a hundred yards or so away. He couldn't tell if it was the demon dog, but he wasn't really inclined to stick around and find out.

"Okay," he said. "You win. Let's get out of here."

He turned again, back in the direction they'd been walking, and only narrowly avoided running straight into another person. He put out his hands and took a startled step back.

Standing in Simon's way was a rather unpleasant, but familiar elderly man, wearing a tweed cap over wisps of white hair, and a very sour expression. Simon recognised him immediately as the man who had heckled him and the teenagers the previous afternoon.

He set keen, flinty eyes on Simon, raising one finger and jabbing it in the air toward Simon's face. "You've come for the vampire!" He accused in a low, rough voice.

Simon nodded. There didn't seem to be any purpose in dissembling.

Technically, he'd come for a lot of vampires. The most ever gathered, in fact. But just now, Simon was far more interested in only one vampire, the same vampire the old man meant.

"Tch!" The old man spat. "You'll be sorry, too! Go! Off back home with ya!"

Simon was unimpressed. "You're still here," he said. "Are you sorry?"

The man jabbed his finger forward once more, poking Simon in the chest with it as if it were a dagger. "You strangers get out and leave us in peace!" He jabbed again. "We always had peace 'fore you kids."

Simon had kept his hands up in front of him, in a gesture fluctuating between defence and warning. He lowered one hand to take hold of the man's wrist and pull it back, to prevent the infliction of further bodily harm.

"Thanks for the tip, mate," Simon muttered out the side of his mouth, pushing past and tugging Lucy after him.

The man grabbed Simon's arm and he was surprisingly strong for his age and stature. Simon could have shaken him off, but he didn't want to hurt the man, and he was pretty sure it would only take a stiff breeze to knock him over.

"Beware the moon at midnight and Dracula's curse!" He hissed. "There shall be a great darkness over the land and it shall enslave your soul."

The old man let go of Simon once he had finished his very bizarre warning.

Lucy was eyeing and sniffing the elderly man with great suspicion. She wasn't often aggressive, but she gave the man a good, deep growl.

He gave her a fishhook sneer, sucked his teeth, and drifted away.

Simon watched him go in wordless shock, until his neck had grown stiff from looking over his shoulder.

"Rog?" Lucy asked.

Simon looked down. "Dog?" He surveyed their surroundings, vaguely remembering that she had seen another large, black dog looming up on them before the old man had interrupted.

"I don't see it," he told her.

Lucy shook her head.

"Come on. I'm getting pretty tired of all these ambushes."

Lucy wholeheartedly agreed.

Simon was still feeling jittery, full of excess energy he needed to get out somehow, when they came within sight of the Whalebone Arch and the Captain Cook monument. And their ultimate destination—the singular point of interest in the area as far as Simon was concerned.

For there, alone in the Whitby Pavilion, was, like a shining beacon in a storm-swept sea, Clara's Coffee Shop.

By Simon's reckoning, Clara must have been some sort of angel sent from on high for the express purpose of providing to weary travellers in their times of dire need.

The building that housed the coffee shop was historic and quaint, the sort of thing you'd expect to see in a seaside town right on the water: a small building, only large enough to house a food and drink prep station, with a service window at the centre, and menu boards either side.

Simon got himself one tea, two sandwiches, and three toasted tea cakes. (He would have to go back to get more for the girls, for he had run out of hands and pockets and was too hungry to wait to empty them.)

He stood with his back to the pavilion, taking in the sights of the sea and trying not to think about a great darkness over the land, as he gulped down his first sandwich and drowned it with half a cup of tea.

He already felt a good deal calmer and more solid.

Maybe he'd get himself another tea.

Lucy let out a soft bark—questioning—the kind she reserved for people she knew, but didn't know well. Then came a soft, "ruh roh."

A shadow fell across Simon's back and the hairs on his neck came to attention.

Not another one, he thought with mounting dread.

"Simon Snow," said a voice.

A voice Simon knew as well as his own. (Maybe even better than his own.)

"Baz!" Simon exclaimed, whirling around to face the interloping investigator.

Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Grimm-Pitch was dressed in a dark, calf length coat with the collar turned up against the wind. His irritatingly shiny and soft-looking black hair leapt like a flame around his face.

Baz had been born into money and he'd earned obscene gobs more of it over the years as Enigma Ltd.'s greatest—possibly only—competition.

"Interesting that you knew me before you turned around," Baz smirked in that way he always did. Like a cat reaching out a paw destined to knock a full glass of water off the table. Not that Baz let being a human stop him from that kind of wilful antagonism.

Simon clutched his tea cup closer to his chest.

"I'd know your voice anywhere," he admitted.

Baz raised a thick, perfect brow.

While true, that probably wasn't the sort of thing professional rivals were supposed to say to each other.

"You knew me before I turned around," Simon pointed out, struggling to regain his conversational footing. Baz was always setting him off balance. It was all part of his grand scheme to put Enigma Ltd. out of business.

"Of course," Baz waved a dismissive hand. "I recognised you by your" —Simon received a rather disdainful once over— "everything."

Simon had never been as stylish as Baz, or as posh, or as handsome. And Baz had never let him forget it. Any of it. He was reminding him now by simply existing in the same space.

"Also, you're wearing Wellbelove's hoodie. I trust she's well."

"What're you doing here?" Simon asked, putting the whole of his simmering indignation behind the question. "Shouldn't you be in—"

Simon cut himself off before he finished his question.

It was at that precise moment that four separate things occurred to him. The first being that he should not know where Baz was meant to be. The second, that he should not let Baz know that he knew where Baz was meant to be. The third, that he did not in fact know where Baz was meant to be. The fourth, that Baz was of course meant to be there, because he was obviously working on a case, and that invariably brought him into Simon's way.

The two rivals stared at one another, assessing.

Finally Baz, acting bored with the business, spoke. "I'm looking for a vampire."

"Tried a mirror?"

"Vampires don't show up in mirrors," Baz answered scornfully.

"Don't they?"

Baz narrowed his eyes.

"Well, you've come to the right place," Simon said, lifting his cup toward the small crowd that had gathered behind them at Clara's service window. "They're well stocked here. You'll have your pick."

"I only need the one."

Simon had reached his limit on playing coy. "So, who're you working for, then?"

"That's privileged information, Snow."

"It's Salisbury now."

"Ah, yes. Of course. Your heartwarming rags to riches story. You dominated the feeds for several days. I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Yeah, so you can stop calling me Snow."

"No. I can't."

Simon growled.

"Still growling like that dog of yours when you don't get your way," Baz observed with cruel amusement, glancing briefly down at Lucy. "Good to know there are some things that never change."

"Like you being a prick?"

"Precisely."

"Look. Can we talk?"

"No time. Important case and all, as you're aware. Just stopped off for a tea."

"Is that it?"

Baz looked down at the cup he was holding.

"My tea? Well spotted! You really have earned your reputation as a crack investigator."

"No! I mean. Is that all? You just came out here to pick up your tea and now you're going?"

"That is generally how it works, yes."

Simon growled again.

Baz rolled his eyes. "Fine. We can chat, but we'll have to do it in motion."

"Are you sure you can stand to be seen in public with me?" Simon said nastily.

"We're in public right now. I think I'll survive."

Baz started off, barely glancing back to make sure Simon was following him. They walked down the pavement along North Terrace, back toward the bed and breakfast. Simon found himself wondering where Baz was staying, but he wouldn't ask.

The chilled wind coming in off the water took no prisoners on their hair and cheeks. Simon thought Baz looked even more like a vampire with his long, black hair blown dramatically off his forehead, exposing his widows peak.

Surely other people could see the resemblance. Baz was the most convincing vampire in a town about to be absolutely swarming with them and he wasn't even in costume—at least, Simon didn't think he was.

It was a bit hard for him to tell with the way Baz always dressed in bespoke three-piece suits and floral shirts—Simon didn't even know what bespoke meant. Sometimes, the suits were floral, too, though Simon had only seen that once. (Not that he'd made special note of it, or anything.)

He wore leather driving gloves and silk scarves and carried embroidered handkerchiefs with his family crest on them.

If Baz wasn't a vampire, it was a real fucking waste.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you anything about my client or my case so this is going to be a complete waste of your time," Baz said.

Did he think that was going to be good enough to scare Simon off? After all these years?

"I never heard from ya," Simon said.

Baz looked over at him in shock, both eyebrows raised, which was a lot coming from Baz.

Simon hurried to revise his previous statement, which had been too revealing. "I mean, not that I thought I would. Hear from you, that is. And not that I wanted to! Obviously. But," he sighed. The next words out of his mouth almost hurt. "You never let me thank you."

"I didn’t do anything."

Baz sneered and that expression, harsh as it was, warmed Simon through. It was familiar. He'd been feeling out of sorts around Baz until now. Not knowing any longer where they stood.

"I’m surprised you brought it up at all," Baz went on. "Isn't it rather an awkward subject for you?"

"Well. Yeah."

"Then imagine how uncomfortable it is for me. Moving on!"

Baz's conversational pace was giving Simon whiplash, but he was happy for it. If Baz didn't want to talk about what had happened, if he didn't want to hear Simon's gratitude, then that would make things easier. They could go back to hating each other and there wouldn't be any messy awkwardness of favours between them.

"Tell me about your client," Baz said, moving on. "As you're so keen."

"Don't have one."

Baz scoffed. "Are you having me on?"

"No. We don't have a client. We're not here to work a case."

Baz stopped walking. "Then, what are you doing here? You don't expect me to believe you just popped up for the world record with no ulterior motives and nothing whatsoever to do with Dracula’s Curse."

"Dracula's Curse?" Simon didn't mean to sound resentful, but he couldn't help feeling jealous that Baz already knew what was going on and had been brought in to help, when he'd only heard about the curse by stumbling into it the night before.

"So, you maintain you don't know what I'm talking about and this is all just one big coincidence?" Baz asked, tone mocking.

Baz's tone was usually mocking.

"Yes! I do!"

Baz rolled his eyes. "At least have the decency not to lie to my face."

"I'm not lying!" Simon shouted. He'd spent his childhood constantly on the defensive, always being thought the worst of, always being doubted and blamed. He wasn't going to put up with that now. Especially from Baz.

"Sometimes," he said, "people do things for fun. Not because there's money to be had."

"I suppose you'd know."

"Fuck you, Baz!" Simon snarled.

Baz just curled his lip at him, barely even deigning to look his way—and that only with his eyes.

"I know you can't possibly understand," Simon went on, voice growing strident. He had always struggled to find the right words to use, and the right order to place them in. It was much worse when he was angry. Or when he was talking to Baz. Or when he was angry with Baz. (Which was always.) But somehow, he found the words this morning.

"When you do something out of the kindness of your heart, people will start to like you. They'll want you around. Even invite you places, just so they can spend time with you."

That evil smile was back on Baz's face. He glanced down at Lucy, who'd been following the exchange with rapt attention. Possibly hoping for scraps.

"They wanted to see the dog, didn't they?" Baz asked.

"You know what!" Simon exclaimed, stepping closer.

It was a good thing for all present that he had already finished off his tea, because in his mindless rage, he snapped his hand tight into a fist, ready to implant itself into Baz's face, brutally crushing the empty paper cup.

Baz, still smiling, stepped closer, too. It was to his advantage, given that he was three inches taller than Simon and could lord that over him better at this range. He quirked an eyebrow and angled his gaze down his long, crooked nose. (It was crooked because of another, only slightly less civilised confrontation between the two of them years earlier.) "What, Snow?"

"There were a few months there where I started to wonder if I'd been wrong about you," Simon admitted, and his voice wasn't the hard edge it had been. But it was low and menacing—it had to be, to hide the shaking emotion behind it.

Baz felt that voice run all the way down his spine.

"When I started to let myself think that maybe you weren't the absolute worst person in the world," Simon continued. "I can see now that it was crazy to have doubted myself. I don't know why you did what you did, but the only way I can figure it is that there was something in it for you. And I'm going to find out what that is. And then I'm going to expose you, so that everyone will know what you're really like under your designer suits."

"Do you often think about what I'm like under my suits, Snow?"

"What?" It took Simon longer than he would like to admit to process what Baz was implying, and how his own words could have been turned against him. "I—No!"

Baz just chuckled, then sipped his tea. "If you're not going to tell me what you're really doing here, then this conversation is over. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

He turned on the heel of one very expensive Italian wingtip and waved over his shoulder without looking back. "Ta!"

He could more feel than hear Simon growling after him, as the indomitable wind swept away all other sounds before they could reach his ears.

But the wind did nothing to drown out the voice of derision inside Baz's head. A voice that sounded a lot like Simon's.

Baz didn't care what sort of threats Simon made. He was never going to prove that Baz stood to benefit in any way by providing Simon with the information he needed to find his grandmother. The truth of the matter—a truth Baz would happily take to his grave—is that he had done it, as Simon himself put it, out of the kindness of his heart.

Because it felt like the only thing he'd ever be allowed to give Simon, the only thing Simon would ever accept from him.

There was no mountain of evidence to amass against him, nor was there anything that would convince Simon that Baz had acted only with his happiness in mind.

And that was exactly the way Baz wanted it.