The Worst Behaved Werewolf

by Gillian St. Kevern

  A quick rap at the door. Scott poked his head around the door. “Lord Cross in his study? No, don’t disturb him. I just thought that I would congratulate Mr Dawson on his new position. Unless you think you’ll have further need of me tonight?”

  Rosemary turned away as the door opened, seemingly fascinated by the view of Paris outside. Her knuckles clenched in the curtain fabric.

  “A good idea.” Pip spoke casually, trying not to look at her. “Pass on my congratulations too.”

  Scott bustled out. Rosemary let the curtains fall with a sigh—only to catch herself. “I didn’t mean—”

  Pip set his cup of tea down. “Just how long are you going to let Mr Scott believe that his sister never escaped the fair folk’s land?”

  Her cheeks flushed an angry red. “You’re wrong. We’re not—he’s not—”

  “The boy you left behind, maybe,” Pip said. “But he is your brother, isn’t he?” He patted the sofa beside him. “Truth gets muddled over time. In half the stories it’s a sister, half a lost love, but always a musician. Or was that wrong, too?”

  Rosemary drooped. “No. My baby brother, older now than I am.” She sank into Cross’s habitual armchair. “I was everything to him. Parents, sister, friend. Now… He is a grown man with friends and a career of his own. What would I be but a burden? He’s educated, a man of the world. I… Even our own country folk must find me strange.” She pulled her feet up underneath her. “He doesn’t need me.”

  “As a confirmed brother, can I say that sisters are less a necessity and more a matter of fact?” Pip suggested. “Julia… The relationship we had as children is very different from that we have now. We’re not the people we were, and the relationship we have is different…But it’s a relationship I could not have with anyone else.”

  She looked at him, eyes hard and angry. “I will not be pitied.”

  “We have too much regard for you for that.” Cross had entered the room without either of them hearing. He closed the door behind him softly. “So much regard in fact that we are loathe to part with you.”

  Rosemary crossed her arms but did not say anything.

  Pip took this as an encouraging sign. “You don’t want to be a burden on your brother. What if you could get to know him again, and find a place for yourself in his world, while supporting yourself independently?”

  “A job?” Rosemary considered his words. “What can I do? I have no skills, no world knowledge. I will not be a charity case—”

  “You would be doing everyone at Foxwood Court a favour,” Cross said.

  Pip ignored him. “You can read and write? Perfect. I have a small collection—”

  Cross snorted. “Small?”

  “Mostly of books,” Pip said loudly. “But with a few curios and the like. I need help cataloguing them.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And you cannot hire someone else to do this because…?”

  “Mr Leighton’s collection deals with the supernatural,” Cross said. “He’s tried to catalogue it previously, but applicants were put off by the nature of the collection.”

  Rosemary’s snort was scornful. “And I, knowing the truth of the supernatural, am uniquely well-suited for the job. You must have congratulated yourself soundly when you thought of that.”

  He had. Pip grimaced. “Julian asked if we could bring you back to Foxwood.”

  Rosemary blinked. “Julian?”

  Pip nodded. “You don’t know how long I’ve been encouraging him to make a friend. Now that he has… You can see why we want you to come with us.”

  Rosemary frowned. “What do you mean? He must have dozens of friends.”

  “He is…prone to avoiding his peers,” Cross admitted. “In fact, avoiding all company save ours.”

  “I arranged a birthday party for him once,” Pip said. “All the children in the neighbourhood. He disappeared the moment the doorbell rang and emerged from his hiding place three hours after the last guest had left. We still don’t know where he hid.”

  Rosemary’s mouth twitched. “That bad.”

  “That bad,” Pip agreed.

  She stood. “I’ll take you on. For a short time, at least. If you don’t suit, I am free to leave at any time.”

  “Naturally,” Cross said. “We will discuss the details tomorrow.”

  “A deal.” She held out her hand. “Goodnight, Lord Cross, Mr Leighton.”

  “A most business-like young woman,” Cross said as she left. “I wonder what Surplis will make of her.”

  “Perhaps we should wire a warning.” Pip patted the sofa. “Sit down here with me. You haven’t touched your tea.”

  Cross sat, but it was Pip’s teacup he reached for, putting it aside.

  “I hadn’t finished that.”

  “Later.” Cross placed a hand on Pip’s arm, bringing him close. “Let us make the most of this before someone else interrupts.”

  “I thought I was the impulsive—” Pip’s sentence was first unfinished and then forgotten entirely. Cross kissed like they were both much younger men. He’d missed this. Not just the kiss, but Thomas himself, the scratch of his beard, the tickle of his breath, the feeling of complete contentment of having him near, knowing his entire being was focused simply on Pip…

  Cross pulled away. Pip shook his head to clear it. “Hang rest cures. Mereweather needs to bottle you. I feel more alive—”

  “Hush.” Cross stared at the door. The handle moved.

  Pip held his breath.

  The door swung open, revealing a sleep-tousled Julian. He’d pulled a robe over his nightshirt and his expression lightened as he caught sight of Pip. He padded over to the sofa and climbed up to sit between Cross and Pip.

  “What did I tell you?” Cross picked up his cup of tea with ill grace.

  Pip swallowed his impatience. “You should be sleeping, Julian.”

  “I woke up and you weren’t there.” Julian arranged himself so that his head rested on Pip’s lap and his feet brushed against Lord Cross. “This is better.”

  “For you, maybe,” Cross muttered.

  Pip stroked Julian’s head. “You’ll have to move. Lord Cross and I were just about to retire.”

  “Can I stay until you finish your cup of tea?”

  Pip hesitated. “Well—”

  “Please, Father? You were away for such a long time…”

  Cross snorted. “Trading on your father’s absence is not the behaviour of a gentleman.”

  “I’m not a very good gentleman, remember?”

  What had Cross been teaching him? Pip shot Cross a warning look. “In the face of logic like that, I am powerless to say no.”

  Julian’s smile eased his worries. “Thank you, Father. Oh, I almost forgot.” He sat up, rummaging in his dressing gown for a rumpled package tied up with string. “This is for you.”

  “Me?” Pip took the package.

  “For your collection.” Julian snuggled down again.

  “Oh?” Pip tried to undo the string, but the knots were drawn tight.

  “Lord Dian gave me it. Before he went away.”

  “A fairy artefact?” Pip brightened.

  Cross’s scowl deepened. “Having narrowly escaped the fair folk’s prison, I don’t want a reminder of their presence in my home.”

  “I’ll display this somewhere you won’t have to look at it.”

  “It’s not a displaying sort of thing.” Julian’s voice was little more than a whisper, sleep claiming him fast. “I wouldn’t want to look at it.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell Lord Dian that. The fair folk are touchy where gifts are concerned.” Pip patted the pockets of his coat. “I’m not sure you should be giving this to me at all.”

  “Give it here.” Cross took his penknife from his pocket and held out a hand.

  “Always practical.” Pip watched Cross slice through the string. “What would we do without you?”

  Cross handed the parcel back, but his mouth twitched. Fighting a smile? “One shudder
s to think.”

  He could not pretend to be annoyed—he had missed Thomas too much. Pip unfolded the brown paper and froze. “Julian. What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” Julian’s reply was muffled.

  “This is… It is what I think it is?” Pip stared at the fleshy object.

  Julian sat, reluctantly brushing his hair out of his face. “If you think it is a fairy heart, then yes. But—”

  Cross placed a firm hand on Julian’s shoulder. “You and I need to have a talk about appropriate gifts and how to deliver them.”

  He returned ten minutes later. “Are you all right?”

  “Me? Yes. I poured myself some of your brandy.” Pip leaned against the mantelpiece besides the fire. “Parenting. Just when you think you have the gist of it, your child gives you a dismembered heart.”

  “It appears that the heart was given to Julian in that state. He was very cagey as to why he was gifted a heart in the first place, so I’ve let that rest for now.” Cross looked around. “Where…?”

  “Your cigar case. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t look at it.” Pip nodded towards a metal box, resting on the table.

  Cross opened the box. “Good heavens. I do believe—”

  “It’s beating. Close it, will you?” Pip held out a hand.

  Cross went to him immediately. “Julian didn’t mean to shock you. He was only thinking of your collection.”

  Pip tightened his grip on Cross’s arm, relishing his solidness. “It’s not that. If my research into the fair folk is any indication, that heart is likely to confer immortality—”

  “What?” Cross’s gaze jerked towards the box.

  “But at a terrible cost.” Pip sucked in a deep breath. “A fairy’s gift… There’s always a catch.”

  Cross’s hands tightened on his. “You’re not to try it.”

  “My health… Mereweather said there were no guarantees.” Pip leaned against Cross, letting his warmth and height steady him. “I cannot bear to think of parting from you.”

  Cross tensed and then relaxed, arms folding Pip in a tight embrace. “Nor I you. But if your hobby has taught us one thing, it is that death is not necessarily an ending.”

  Pip shut his eyes, fixing the moment in his mind. “When…when the time comes, I promise, I will come back to you.”

  “I expect nothing else.” Cross pressed his lips to his Pip’s forehead. “If only because having spent so much time at the seance table, you will not be able to resist correcting the mediums from the other side.”

  Pip smiled. “You know me too well.”

  “And if I should be first to depart this plane, I will not go far,” Cross said gravely. “That is my promise.”

  Pip, unable to speak, squeezed his hand.

  Cross cleared his throat. “This was hardly the reunion I had hoped for. Dash Julian! Why could he not have kept his gift?”

  “It’s not his fault,” Pip said immediately. “Though that does leave the problem of what to do with it.”

  “The fire is right there.”

  “How can you suggest such a thing? This is a scientific marvel—actual proof of the existence of the fair folk.”

  “Fire’s the best place for it,” Cross said. “Prevent a whole lot of bother.”

  “Prevent you from having to do anything, you mean.” Pip nudged him with his elbow. “No… We must get a record of this. For science. I think Mereweather would be an impartial judge. We can count on his discretion.”

  Cross crooked an eyebrow. “Revenge for subjecting you to a regime of rest?”

  “I have nothing but respect for Mereweather—even if he spoke rather sharply on the subject of my return.” Pip suspected he was not believed. “I’ll post it tomorrow morning. By the time he’s examined it, we shall have come up with a plan. Until then, it’s his problem.”

  Cross shook his head. “Do we need to discuss how pettiness towards medical professionals is not gentlemanly behaviour?”

  Pip raised an eyebrow of his own. “Discuss medical professionals, when you could be kissing me?”

  This time they were not interrupted.

  Also by Gillian St Kevern

  July 2020

  The Collector

  No one escapes the Collector.

  Gideon Lawes has never lied—not even to keep his job as junior partner in the prestigious Barchester Bank. Now on the brink of the poorhouse, Gideon’s reputation for scrupulous honesty is all he has left. When his college rival Westaway employs him to investigate a supposedly haunted house, Gideon suspects an ulterior motive. He’s never been able to decipher Westaway’s odd behaviour or pinpoint why the man unsettles him so much. Gideon is determined Westaway won’t get the better of him this time.

  32 Belcairn Road contains secrets that rival those of Gideon’s employer. Drawn by chance into the lives of cheerfully generous Fairweather and darkly ironic Holford, Gideon discovers things about himself he never imagined. But when the spirit haunting Belcairn Road comes to collect on unpaid debts, Gideon must choose between destroying the friendship he values most or sacrificing his self-respect for a lie. Whatever Gideon chooses, the Collector will claim another victim.

  To stay up to date with news of The Collector and my other releases, sign up to my newsletter. Alternatively, you can preorder it on Amazon.

  The Wing Commander’s Curse

  An unbreakable curse.

  England overrun by monsters.

  Two men locked in a losing battle.

  England, 1915.

  Jonah Valliant longs for active service, but is stuck making coffee for the local officers. A year ago, the world erupted into magical chaos. No one knows why Britain is overrun by fearsome worms, magical creatures whose gaze turns men to stone, or how to stop them. When Jonah loses his temper with Wing Commander Mallory, he has no idea that picking a quarrel with the wizard may lead to Britain's salvation--or its destruction.

  Augustus Mallory carries more than the weight of the war effort on his shoulders. He's the last of the Mallory wizards, feared for their power, arrogance and the dark family curse. He knows losing his heart to Jonah endangers everything Mallory cares about—but Jonah may possess the key to defeating the worms once and for all. His only hope: staving off his doom long enough to learn the dreadful truth behind the Quickening.

  Sign up to my newsletter for your free copy of The Wing Commander’s Curse.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my ever awesome Patreon supporters. Jennifer, Julia, Kathleen, Khadija, Lexy, Olivia, Patricia, SpookMouse, Theanna and Y Lee—you rock! Thank you!

  I also want to thank Pauline and Agatha for their comments on the online version of The Worst Behaved Werewolf --it was really good to get your comments!

  A huge merci beaucoup to Amy Blythe who helped me with the French. Thanks to Anne for her input as I wrote and Sera for working her editing magic.

  About the Author

  I realised I wanted to be an author when, as a teenager, I found myself getting annoyed that the characters in the books I read weren’t doing what I wanted them to do. Now that I’m a writer, they still don’t.

  I write a variety of genres, ranging from short and silly contemporary romances to urban fantasy and mystery. My current project is the Read by Candlelight series of gothic romances inspired by the works of M R James, J S Le Fanu and the Brontë sisters.

  In my non-writing life, I live in my native New Zealand, where I enjoy flat whites, playing pretend with my niece and nephew and trying to keep up with my ever increasing to be read pile. I’m the co-founder of the New Zealand Rainbow Romance Writers.

  If you enjoyed The Worst Behaved Werewolf, and want to leave a review, I will be so excited, I will make Pip look restrained.

  gillianstkevern.com

  info@gillianstkevern.com

 

 

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