by E. Earle
Calloway was my saviour in the dark. He knew what I had been through, held me at night when I woke up in the middle of a nightmare, talked me through what happened. He had been there. He had seen me. He had saved my life- and I suppose when I hit the perp with the Jack Daniels bottle, I had saved his too.
And something else happened.
Ben became a dad.
Emily passed me the one ginger kitten from the set of six white kittens Juniper had given birth to. Apparently, she was too late by the time she went to the doctors and she had been dreading my return ever since she found out.
Calloway squeezed me to him after I set the pale ginger kitten on the floor. Ben sniffed him and looked at me with the same astonished expression I had seen on my brother in law’s face when he watched Rowan sleep.
“Yeah, daddio,” I told him. “He’s yours to look after.”
“It’ll be you next!” joked Emily.
I just about choked when Calloway squeezed me again with a grin. I looked at Ben then, as the little kitten sniffed him and pounced beneath his feet. Ben patted it in bemusement and looked up at me in help.
“Count this as one of your cat lives, Ben,” I told him.
“And a new one for you?” Calloway murmured in my ear.
I smiled. “And a new one for us.”
www.eearle.com
More from this author…
The Adventures of Benedict and Blackwell
The Girl With Nine Lives
The Girl Who Bit Back
The Girl With Ten Claws
Stay tuned for the next instalment!
Hell Huntress
Tartarus
All queries should be sent to: [email protected]
The Girl Who Bit Back
Book Two
Of
The Adventures of Benedict and Blackwell
©2013 Copyright E. Earle
www.eearle.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means without permission of the author.
The Girl Who Bit Back
The Adventures of Benedict and Blackwell
E. Earle
For Kayleigh, my big sister, Vanquisher of bullies and Queen of BBQs...
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Christopher Lynn for his endless efforts in designing my books- his talent and dedication is never ending. I would also like to thanks friends and family for their endless support, and finally Tom, for putting up with my excitable rambling about editing, storylines, designs and characters.
Chapter One
I ignored the stares as I walked through my local town. I had nearly gotten used to the whispering. Nearly. I refused to look at the reason that was happily trotting at my feet. He was already pleased enough at the admiring and curious glances that were being thrown our way.
Rolling my eyes, I attempted to wind my way through the local market. Wednesday was the busiest day in our local town of Nuneaton, and for some ridiculous reason, I had promised Ben that I would cook him a romantic dinner.
Ben could be very high maintenance. A womaniser, vain and possessive, he felt as though he deserved some special treatment tonight and demanded I cook him, “the finest chicken breast instead of that mushed up slop.”
Personally, I think he had just been grumpy when he had said that- he’d never complained before. But, I had to go easy on him- he’d just become a dad and needed some “Ben” time.
By the way, Ben is my cat.
Talking cat? I hear you gasp. Stranger things have happened, I suppose. Ben had come to me in the winter, bony, snotty and with bald patches. He adopted me, rescued me from a gun wielding crook and had turned my life around. He had saved me, and now my life had turned around from the despairing black hole it had fallen into.
As for the talking- Ben was always telling me that not everything had to be explained- some things just had to be accepted. So, I’m going to use that saying to divert you from asking anymore questions.
We had come a long way. He was now a ginger image of feline health, his summer coat gleaming- good for him- bad for my hoover.
Ben meowed at me to pick him up as we neared the busker’s dog. I obliged, simply because one- it was easier than arguing, and two- I didn’t trust that Ben wouldn’t try and take on the fluffy husky. He purred as soon as he was in my arms and closed his eyes at the sun.
I worked at the local college and was officially on my holidays. The exams finished the week previous in June, and now I had until September to mooch about and focus on my writing. So far, I had achieved absolutely nothing- today was simply an excuse to not sit down and concentrate. You could forgive me for being distracted with a talking cat- but that was just it- he was full of ideas and I wished that there was some form of writing equipment designed for tiny paws.
I drove back home with Ben lying across my dashboard. I had warned him about the dangers, but apparently I was talking nonsense. I live in the countryside, just outside of Nuneaton. I had been dating a man who had helped me in an investigation with my workplace- Detective Calloway. He had put away the crime boss Principal and the Public Relations Officer for a long time for various crimes, such as, abduction, blackmail and fraud- oh yeah- and attempted murder.
He was getting busier and busier with cases so wasn’t coming over to the house much. He had moved in for a short time, but I don’t think Ben liked it- neither did I to be honest. I didn’t like keeping it a secret that I could talk to Ben- he was my best friend. Pretending he was just a simple cat did not sit well with me. Crazy I would pick my cat over a man? If you had been on the same journey that Ben and I had been through- you would think twice.
Ben was special.
I was renting a house in the same village where my sister, her husband and my nephew lived. I used to live in the town centre but had moved to be closer to them. I would probably have to move again soon- the rent was £500 a month, and I was struggling to pay it and pay off my overdraft even with the wages I got from the college.
I had started a Creative Writing Course at the college and it had reached some media success. A team of creative writing mentors went to various schools in the area to generate interest towards our course and to inspire them to write more outside of school. I wanted to inspire the next generation.
Ben enjoyed the new place- we had a garden he could fool around in, jumping around, climbing and rolling when he thought I wasn’t watching. But there was another reason why we had moved. We needed a fresh start after the trauma of the winter. I had been shot by a crook, and even though the scar was getting smaller, it was still something that gave me nightmares.
Picking up the paper I tossed the wrapped chicken breast on the kitchen counter. Flicking on the kettle, I opened it up and swore.
George Eliot’s Desk Stolen.
My eyes widened as I read the story as fast as I could. George Eliot’s Desk had been stolen from the local museum. It felt even more important because George Eliot was the main reason that gave Nuneaton any fame- she was one of my inspirations to become a writer. Not only that- I used to work at the museum, and the thought of anyone breaking into that place and stealing its most famous object was too difficult to understand.
The paper believed it was a professional stunt- done not for profit, but an actual made to order theft. I wondered where the hell it was, how it happened and how they even got away with it.
I had worked there for eight weeks and I loved it. Every time I walked through the park surrounding the museum, I always felt happy. Ideas had filled my brain about how to make the place more successful, more youth friendly but even though I was met with nods and lots of “Mmmmm interesting...” I soon got the point that I was there to do a job and shut my mouth. I had emailed them before I started working in education asking for a job, but got no replies- even to the jobs they had advertised.
I raised my eyebrows at the news story befo
re jumping at the sound of the telephone. Picking it up was probably the worst thing I had done.
A few weeks later, I was in Cornwall. The rucksack on my shoulders was heavy as I ploughed on up the hill, Ben tucked up inside my coat. My car lay abandoned at the bottom of the hill, its wheels refusing to push its way through the mud. I had no choice but to walk.
“I think, Ellena,” Ben meowed, his nails digging into my skin, “this is probably the worst idea you’ve ever had in your life.”
I was about to retort that the worst idea I had ever had was letting a stray in my house but I held it back. It wasn’t true.
We were nervous, hungry, angry and sad all at the same time. It’s not often that the dad you had never known leaves a surfer’s shack in your name. I could see it standing on top of the hill that the locals called Craggys Peak. Why the hell my biological dad had ever thought it was a good idea to buy a shack in Devon was beside me, and his parents couldn’t answer any questions I had anyway. They had no knowledge that he had done it, and I refused to speak to his current wife or children about it.
The lights hummed from the building and I suddenly felt bitter towards every individual inside. I wanted it to burn down to the ground there and then. Sucking up the memory of Barry alongside with the flames. I had thought that I would never have to face my past again, and now it had come as an ironic and malicious twist of fate. Oh no, I would never speak to Barry again, but I would have to deal with the aftermath of his presence.
My sister and I had argued about it of course. She didn’t want me to go anywhere near the place- sell it on, forget about it.
“Don’t let him drag you down again,” she had growled at me, Rowan on her hip, oblivious to the tension between us.
“I need to see it,” I had answered, no other argument coming to mind. “I just need to go.”
Kayleigh had received nothing from Barry in his will. That stung. The shack had been put in my name, and I had promised that I would share it with Kayleigh. I just needed to see it. I could tell my sister was hurt when I had told her about the letter. We had received it two days after his death and I think I was still a bit shell shocked. I had always wondered what it would feel like. It was strange. We hadn’t gone to the funeral. It was too abnormal- it didn’t feel right to mourn with the rest of his family. It didn’t feel right. Andy was my dad. I had nothing to mourn for this man. Barry had done nothing for my family. The best thing he had done was to leave us.
I had a lot of bitterness towards the situation. Had he ever felt bad? Guilty for deserting us? I shook my head trying to rid myself of those thoughts. They were useless to me. Meeting him again for answers wouldn’t have ever solved anything. He had told so many falsehoods, broken so many promises that I wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between his lies and truths.
My chest burnt with the anger that I had been left behind. Ben was there with me constantly at my side, offering his warmth and support- it was one of the cruxes I could truly rely upon. Calloway and I had called time on our relationship until I had figured some things out. He had become distant over the summer and I needed to get away from it all. I was still healing from the past winter’s events and now this? More emotional turmoil.
“Hurry up!” Ben urged miserably.
I shook the dark thoughts of burning down the shack from my head and trundled up the slippery slope faster. Looking at the surfer’s shack again ahead, I shoved my feet harder into the mud, each step fiercer than the last. The sea was loud in my ears, the wind lashing my hair in my face as I licked salt from my lips. The elements seemed to feel my turmoil.
It seemed an eternity before I got to the top. It was a four storey building that looked as though it would fall down at any minute. Precariously balanced at the edge of a cliff, a large garden with picnic tables was the only thing keeping it from the sea. I walked around it, searching for a way in. I’m sure Ben could have made himself more useful, but he was refusing to poke his head from the warm confines of my coat. Growling in annoyance, I walked into the garden and saw yet more steps to the door.
I looked down at my boots covered in mud and lifting them in disgust. “Ruined!” I growled. “New from Clarkes and now they’re ruined!”
“I’m getting wet!” Ben yowled.
“You’re in my coat!” I seethed down at him. “I’m the one getting soaked!” He dug his claws in me and I swore as I started the heady climb upwards the concrete steps, mumbling about how expensive my boots had been.
“You’re right,” I told my miserable cat, stamping off the worse of the mud on a step. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
“That and you leaving the umbrella in the car.”
I paused; remembering that there was one in the back of my car and gave a small scream of frustration. My freezing hand clung onto the banister at the side, feeling stray flakes of old wood varnish brush off beneath my skin. I finally got to the top and brushed my hand against my jeans in distaste. I straightened up for someone to slam into me. I cried out in surprise and flailed my arms trying to keep my balance, my rucksack dragging me back down. Ben yowled and dug his claws further into my skin, making me shriek all the louder. A hand grabbed the front of my jumper and yanked me forward, making me fall into their chest.
“Bloody hell!” a masculine voice swore. “I’m sorry about that- I didn’t see you at all.”
I looked up to see a very tanned guy of twenty-something with blonde shoulder length dreadlocks around a good natured face. But I was too pissed off. I brushed his hands off me and walked past him, growling.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Ben hissed.
I stepped into the shack, freezing and soaking wet. I looked down and saw sand.
What the hell?
“This is going to be one big dream for you, isn’t it Ben?” I murmured, remembering to keep my voice down. But I needn’t have worried- Ben was clever and never spoke around humans. Sometimes I wondered if it really was just all in my head.
I had stepped into a pub atmosphere, a bar ahead of me, the place lined with seashells and paintings of people surfing on the uneven walls. The floor was covered in sand, people’s footprints marking out a pattern. Church pews filled the place with tables in front with people sitting on them drinking Desperados and Budweiser. They had been staring at a small television in the corner of the room, people surfing and falling into the sea with winces, flinches and guffawing. Their eyes were now set on me and Ben.
Had I just walked into some sort of hippie bar?
Ben jumped out from my coat and shook himself out. He always liked a crowd.
Murmuring instantly rose.
Embarrassed, I stepped inside, shivering as I looked at their shorts and flip flops. I’m not sure if Ben and I really fitted in with the crowd, but I could feel the atmosphere completely change at the sight of him. Ben had that effect on people. I always saw him as my orange ball of feline love in a world of grey.
My eyes went from Ben to my surroundings- the cracked walls, the hippy art and the old scratched chairs. Admittedly, it did have its own charm, but sadness suddenly crushed down on me. I didn’t want to like this place. Why had I come here?
I walked to the bar, Ben at my side. I glanced at the pictures stuck up behind next to bottles of tequila and rum, of more people catching huge waves. A girl stood behind the bar, talking to a guy in his late twenties with curly sun bleached hair. They quietened their conversation as I came forth and dropped my stuff. Ben jumped up onto a bar stool and started to groom himself.
“Hi,” I said, taking in the girl’s long blonde hair, pierced nose and blue eyes. She had a mass of freckles on her face and chest, but that made her prettier for some reason.
“Hello,” she said, staring at Ben, smiling. “Is he yours?”
“Arguably he would probably say that I’m his,” I said tiredly.
“He’s adorable,” she gushed. “But I’m not sure we’re allowed cats in here…”
She frowned, as if trying to remember. “Um, well, we do have one or two-”
“Well Ben is much better behaved than a dog,” I quickly lied.
“Right…” She was trying to be polite with my sharp tone. “Have you booked a room for the night? Because we don’t serve alcohol to the public after eight, sorry. Just lodgers.”
I didn’t return her smile, too tired. “I’m Ellie Blackwell,” I said. “I called a couple of days ago saying I was coming.”
The girl’s face drained of that lovely gold colour suddenly. “Oh,” she said, swallowing. “Ok, I’ll show you to your room, if you’re staying?”
I looked pointedly to my bags. “Yes I am.”
“Follow me.” She awkwardly stepped from behind the bar and around me, indicating for us to follow as she started to lead me down a corridor. Ben trotted ahead of me with his tail high in the air, sniffing as we went. We passed another room filled with sand, alcohol and customers watching yet another show on surfing. Some guys were sitting at a table playing cards. I saw one of them glance at Ben in curiosity before settling back on the game. I didn’t catch any more of a description of his face than a flash of dark eyes.
“Hey, is that a cat?”
I ignored whoever had spoken and walked on.
