She needed hers.

"Canadian or American, Miss LePage?"

"What?"

"Your nationality?"

Talk about change of tack "I'm American.""Mind if I see your pa.s.sport?"

She did, but figured she couldn't refuse. He flicked through it "So you entered at Gatwick the beginning of May Permission for three months Had half your stay Planning on extending it? Not thinking of getting a job, are you?"

What was he after? "I'm not too sure what I'm doing. When I came, I didn't really intend on staying this long."

"Why did you?"

"I like it here I've met some nice people It's a great place for a holiday."

"In spite of the odd things?"

"Yes." It came out like a hiss She wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h back her pa.s.sport, but he continued to flick the pages as if searching for a secret, a clue to explain why someone had just failed to blow her to smithereens.

"Charleston, South Carolina," he read "Why come here? Bringham isn't exactly on the tourist route."

"I inherited this house and my great-aunts' money Anyone in the village would tell you that."

"So you just left your job and came over here for an indeterminate stay? You must have an understanding employer."

"I quit my job."

"Just like that?"

"What has this got to do with poor old Stanley Collins getting blown up?"

"I'm trying to find out, Miss LePage. How about you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why you threw up a presumably steady job, came hotfooting it over here, established yourself in the community-without legal residence, I might add-and what you've done to make someone want to kill you."

"As to the latter, I'll repeat. I don't know and I wish you'd find out. As to quitting my job, I'll tell you. In the s.p.a.ce of a few months, my grandmother, who'd raised me, died, and I was on the receiving end of a broken engagement. My life was a mess.

I inherited a house and money. It seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to escape."

Jones nodded. "So you left brokenhearted, came here, and fell into Mr. Marlowe's arms."

Dixie wondered how many years of jail time you got for slapping a policeman. "Not exactly. I'm an adult, Inspector. So is Christopher. What we do is our business."

"As long as you don't break the law." He looked straight at her. "I noticed you still use the present tense when talking about Mr. Marlowe. Wouldn't know where he is, would you?"

That she could answer truthfully. "No, I wouldn't."

"And the last time you saw him?"

"At the Whist Drive on Sat.u.r.day." The lie came easy."Half the village saw him then, it seems. And no one on earth has seen him since. Must have been quite a party."

"Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Can't say I do, Miss LePage." He slid her pa.s.sport across the table. "Keep it handy, Miss LePage. Oh, by the way, it's our practice after an incident like this to keep the area under surveillance for forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Just in case. So don't let police cars parked in the lane worry you."

"You mean I'm being watched?"

"We wouldn't want anyone to take a second go at you."

"But I can leave?" Or was this British-style house arrest?

The question amused him. "Lord, yes. Don't let them stop you doing anything. Of course, if you plan on going any distance let us know, and don't leave the country." And on that, he left, followed by Wyatt.

Justin made her fresh tea, even sweeter than Emma's. "You should lie down. Someone's coming to fix the broken windows.

And... much as I share your distaste for Inspector Jones, he has a point. Someone went to a great deal of trouble and expense to kill you. Any ideas?"

Dixie swallowed. Twice. "I'm not exactly sure. I can't help thinking it's the same person who tried to incinerate Christopher and undoubtedly did kill Vernon."

"Who's Vernon?"

Dixie explained as best she could, and for good measure added everything she'd learned about her great-aunts and Sebastian.

"Sebastian seems to turn up everywhere. I can't help suspecting he was involved with trying to kill Christopher. Christopher never said so. He just insisted I would be safe once he left the neighborhood." She paused, her mouth twisted in a wry grin. "It seems he was wrong."

Justin listened and thought for a while as if mulling over the convoluted information he'd just heard. "I think," he finally said, "there's more than one issue here. What do you know about a coven of witches?"

"Witches?" Dixie repeated, her voice rising with surprise. "Surely you don't believe... I get it. I didn't believe in vampires.

Once. So there are witches, too? Gran used to say her sisters were witches. I thought it was a figure of speech." Her mind all but scrambled as she tried to piece it all together. What did Faith and Hope have to do with this? They were dead, weren't they? Or did witches come back like vampires?

"What else did she tell you?" Justin asked.

"Not much. I know her family disapproved of her marrying Gramps. When I talked of visiting here, she told me I'd be better off staying away. I took her word for it. I couldn't afford it anyway." She looked across the table to Justin. "You think they really were witches?"

He shrugged. "There's more than one sort of witch. Your aunts sound like experts of herb lore, and they used their skills as a two-edged income. Some witches follow the old religion-the pre-Christian practices that I encountered when I first arrived, and others..." He paused. "They practice the black arts."

"You think it was witches who tried to incinerate Christopher?" He shook his head. In denial of knowledge or refusal to tell?

"Considering everything, I think I ought to know."

He hesitated, as if trying to decide what to tell. "The knife used was a Druid one. It must have been preserved and handed down. But the practice of slaying us for our powers, that stems from the black arts."Talk about information overload! "We're dealing with hybrid witches?" Had her notion of normality changed these past couple of days!

"I think we're dealing with an ancient Druid coven that has now embraced the black arts."

"They're dangerous."

He actually smiled. "Is the sun warm? Did Hitler cause trouble? Was the Black Death a problem?"

She got the point. "What's to be done?"

"Kit told you."

Cold settled in her midriff. "I'm not leaving. Not until something's resolved."

"Waiting for a second bomb? Who is the next one going to kill?" That was a low blow. "Think about it," he said, rising. "And while you're thinking, would you let me see your great-aunts' record books?"

They spent the day up in the little attic. Justin read at a rapid speed. Getting through college would be a breeze for a vampire.

After reading, he agreed that most papers should be destroyed, and promised to help burn them-after the police left. It took a couple of hours to burn the lot in the living room fireplace, after dark so no one noticed the smoke, but Dixie felt she'd sanitized the village. Those papers couldn't harm anyone now.

Dixie held back the journals. "Taking them back with you?" Justin asked.

"I think so."

"Fair enough. Now, how about you get packed? We'll spend tonight at Tom's. In the morning we'll have a chat with your Inspector Jones, and have him agree to let you leave."

"Okay, but I want to stay here tonight. I should be safe enough with you here."

Morning found them facing Jones behind his gray steel desk.

"Sorry, Miss LePage, you can't leave. Not yet. Maybe in a couple of weeks." He shook his head to underscore his refusal.

"Inspector," Justin said, his voice quiet but penetrating in the badly lit room, "you cannot continue to give protection. You can't discount the possibility of a second attempt on her life." He took a slow breath, then continued, "Under the circ.u.mstances, it would serve everyone's best interest to permit Miss LePage to return home. You can see no objection."

Inspector Jones blinked his pale eyes. Twice. He yawned, as if daydreaming. "In the circ.u.mstances, it would serve everyone's best interest to permit Miss LePage to return home. I see no objection."

"Thank you, Inspector." Justin offered his hand as they all rose and he threw Dixie a look that silenced her comments. At least until she shut the car door.

"What exactly went on there? Some sort of Svengali act?"

"No," he replied, changing gears and watching for a lull in the traffic to pull out of the side road.

"What did you do, then?""I changed his mind." He eased the car out into the traffic and headed for the town center.

"Do it a lot, do you?" She forced her voice to stay calm. But her mind hop-scotched around the implications.

"When necessary."

"You did it on Friday. That's how you got past all the policemen."

"They couldn't prevent me. I promised Christopher you'd be safe." His voiced sounded like concrete.

"So, you changed his mind, but it wasn't a Svengali act?"

He glanced her way, then gave his attention back to the traffic. "Svengali hypnotized. I just let Jones choose an option he'd rejected earlier."

He could twist the police to his will and she hoped to defy him? d.a.m.n him, she would. She wasn't sliding offstage the way he wanted. Not after all she'd read and learned last night.

She insisted on a last stop at the Barley Mow. She wanted everyone in the village to know she was going.

"Bon voyage and all that," Alf said as they left. "Good luck. Sorry to see you go. Thinking of retiring myself. It's just not the same around here. You going. Poor old Vernon done for. Marlowe. And now Stanley Collins. I still can't believe that." He shook his head as if to ward off tears.

Dixie felt the salt-sting behind her own eyelids as a bitter taste rose from her throat. "It'll work out, Alf," she said as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

"I hope so. I want them to find that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Marlowe. Pity they did away with hanging."

Dixie's soul froze in her throat. Cold oozed out of her spine. "He's innocent until proven guilty."

Alf shook his head. "Sorry to say it, I know he was a friend of yours. But what else are we to think? Burned to death in that man's bed?" He paused. "Terrible way to say goodbye on, isn't it?"

She agreed.

"Someone needs to clear Christopher's name," she said as they walked home.

"Don't get ideas, Dixie," Justin warned. "You're getting on that plane tomorrow. If you and Kit are both safe and out of the way, maybe the rest of us can delve for the truth."

"By the 'rest' you mean you and Tom?" She took a breath. "There are more of you." Of course, there had to be, maybe a whole army of vampires. "I could help."

"Forget it, Dixie. No amateur detective antics. Solving mysteries belongs in Agatha Christie. This is reality, and I promised Kit you'd be safe. You get on that plane tomorrow, agreed?"

She agreed. With fingers crossed behind her back.

"I feel so guilty about Stanley's family. If I'd started the car..."

"You'd be dead." They were driving south on the M26 towards Gatwick. Justin never took his eyes off the traffic. "Would that be Stanley Collins's fault? It's the fault of whoever planted the bomb, and the person who hired them.""But if I'd never come here..."

"The evil in Bringham existed long before you came. It was your misfortune to arouse it."

"And now I'm running away."

"In my army days, they called it strategic withdrawal."

"How long ago was that? The Crusades?"

"Much earlier. Remember, I came with the Ninth Hispania. Posted to Eburac.u.m to replace a surgeon who drank himself to death to keep out the cold and damp. I marched out with them the last time and got a black-tipped Brigantine arrow through my throat."

"And then someone turned you into a vampire." What an incredible conversation while they sped down a five-lane highway through the Surrey countryside.

"The healer named Gwyltha. We had formed a tentative friends.h.i.+p the winter before during a typhoid outbreak. She changed me."

There wasn't much to say to that. She had a hundred questions, but suspected she wouldn't get answers. Besides, she needed quiet time to think. She leaned back on the leather upholstery, shut her eyes and plotted.

"Just drop me. Don't park," she said as they took the airport exit.