Viridian Tears (16 page)

“These are your booklets then?” He’d picked up
Standing Stones of Wiltshire
.

“Yes.” She set the tea down on the desk. “All self published and self illustrated. I warned you they weren’t very good.”

“I think they’re great.” He flicked through the pages, pausing at the illustrations. “You can tell what it is. I can see this stone’s got a big crack in it, for example.”

“That was a line of shadow.” She took the book from him. “I didn’t realize how much detail the printing would strip away. I’d spent so long getting all the shading right in the drawings and none of it came out in the print.”

“I’ve seen much worse.”

“Have you?”

“From the way you described it I was expecting stick figures and a round blob for the sun.” He covered her indignant mouth with a kiss. “Look, give me a list of the places you want illustrated and I’ll draw them. If you like them you can print them for nothing, how’s that?”

“That sounds fair. Do I get the drawings to sell in the shop?”

“Okay.”

“It’s a deal then” She tapped the computer. “And could you send me that image of the Joseph’s key?”

“Tomorrow, sure, though it’ll have to be the JPEG because your machine won’t recognize the 3D one without the software.”

“That’ll be fine, thanks.” She grinned and flounced back to the kitchen where the lentil bake threatened to be burned to a crisp and the rye bread she’d put on for Winston had become small lumps of charcoal though not suitable, sadly, for drawing with. She put some more in and fished out the now hard-boiled eggs. It was distracting to have a man about the house.

She called out. “Do you want your eggs hard boiled or soft?”

“Fried, please, if they’re going on toast. “Or poached, if you have a conscientious objection to fried food.”

“I can do poached.” She set aside the hard boiled eggs and filled a small pan with hot water from the kettle. As soon as it began bubbling she cracked in two eggs and put the lid on then fished out the toast before it burned.

“What’s this?” Winston appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a bottle, inside which was a jumble of objects bound in string and wax. There were bent iron nails, small bones, hair and what looked like feathers and strips of meat. On the top was a bird’s skull that looked larger than the hole in the bottle. “It looks like a collection of things I’d pull out of a flat tire. It looks disgusting.”

“Put it back.” Meinwen’s voice took on a hard edge, even to her own ears. “It’s a witch’s bottle, designed to keep the house safe from malevolent curses. I found it under the floorboards shortly after I moved in.”

“And you kept it?” He grimaced. “I’d have thrown it away.”

“But nothing bad has ever happened here.” She came up to him and stared into the bottle. “By rights I should donate it to the Witchcraft Museum at Boscastle but I’m sure they’ve got better examples and it was put there for a reason. I always feel safe in my cottage.”

“Has anything bad ever happened here?” Winston replaced the bottle in the little niche in the stone fireplace. “Not to you. I mean in the history of the house.”

“Not that I know of.” Meinwen paused. “The last owner was murdered, though she didn’t live here at the time.”

“Perhaps your bottle encouraged her to move out.”

Meinwen laughed. “Perhaps it did at that.”

“Mind you, it let me in.”

“Why shouldn’t it? You’re not evil.”

“But I want to do bad things to you.” He licked his lips. “All night long.”

Chapter 16

Eden wound the muslin around David’s still form one more time. Although the Egyptians had wrapped mummies with their arms crossed over their chest, Eden had kept David’s at his side before the wrappings went on. Being alone had made the process difficult but not impossible. She’d begun with his arms while he was upright, holding each out from his body while she unwound the rolls of linen around his flesh, continuing with his torso and pelvis. His head and neck next, but leaving the area from his chin to his eyebrows clear so she could see his face until the last possible moment.

With the partially wrapped form horizontal, she proceeded to wrap the legs first separately and then together, running the muslin up the torso to bind his arms to his sides and tie it off at the shoulders.

She kissed his lips and placed a piece of soft flannel over his face, then used a long, thin veil as a winding sheet for his head, covering his closed eyes but leaving his nose and mouth free but for the loose flannel.

She leaned in to where his ear made a raised area under the shroud. “All right?”

“Yes, fine.” His voice held a dreamy quality. “I feel like I’m floating.”

“Good.” Eden looked at the time on her phone. She’d give him twenty minutes before she pulled him out of it. Unwilling to leave him alone in case he had a panic attack, she picked up a book. Noise in the room would distract him from whatever dream river he travelled on, so television, radio and music were out. She couldn’t wear headphones in case she missed a safe word, something she and David had agreed upon beforehand in case he needed to be unwrapped. They generally used the word ‘red’ since it was a universal danger signal.

She opened the novel and began to read, pleased to find it was set in and around Highgate Cemetery. Was it wrong to divide her passion for the dead between her work, her hobby and her recreation? She glanced over the top of the page at David. He never seemed to complain.

When the twenty minutes were up she put on some classical music very softly. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, she judged David to be asleep and padded down to the kitchen for candles and ice cubes. His breathing had changed when she returned two minutes later, the deep sighs of sleep replaced by the light breath and murmurs of someone dreaming. She lifted the flannel from his mouth and pressed her lips to his and after a moment he returned to full consciousness and kissed back.

She ran an ice cube over them and he smiled, licking the water away. She repeated this three times before dropping it back in the glass and turning to the protuberance at his groin.

Some deft work with a scalpel freed David’s penis from the bindings. It shriveled when the cooler air of the room hit bare skin but soon recovered, helped along by the warm embrace of Eden’s lips and tongue. David moaned, unable to prevent or encourage her from inside the wrappings. He quivered as she manipulated him close to orgasm then backed away.

She alternated applying her mouth to the area with the use of ice and then when both had the effect of making him strain to come, lit a plain household candle and let that drip onto his skin. He hissed with the shock and she soothed the suddenly warm area with an ice cube with made him gasp.

Grinning, she alternated all three treatments, ice, wax and lips, varying the length and frequency of each. Sometimes she’d give him a whole minute of oral sex before switching to a single drop of hot wax. Another time she’d build up a whole coat of wax, then peel it off and use up a whole ice cube soothing it again.

Eventually the candle had burned down, the ice cubes had melted, the music was on its third repeat and her lips had gone numb. She slipped off her knickers and lowered herself onto his shaft, one foot on either side of his pelvis and guiding it inside her with one hand while she steadied herself with the other placed lightly on his chest.

“That feels so damned good.” His voice was a throaty whisper.

“Ride ‘em, cowboy.” She alternated squeezing him with her vaginal walls and rising up and down on his shaft, careful not to let his cock slip out as she rose. She’d done that once with a lad at college and almost bent it double when she came down again. His screams had woken his two housemates.

Not so with David. This was the very best way to have sex. There were dozens of positions she enjoyed but with David completely bound and immobile it was the closest she could ever get to marrying her job. Not that she had either interest or desire for necrophilia. Skimming the fantasy like this was as close as she ever wanted to go.

She felt his muscles go stiff. He was trying to prolong her pleasure by holding back his orgasm. Bless him. What had she ever done to deserve such a considerate husband? She leaned forward. “It’s all right. You can come.”

It was hard to gauge how well a man lying on his back with his arms and legs bound immobile could buck, but Eden found her position precarious when he did. She rode him out until his bucking was surmounted by his orgasm inside her and lessened until he was still.

She stayed in position until his penis became flaccid and slipped out without any help from her. She hadn’t come herself but didn’t care. She’d enjoyed it all the more because of his obvious delight. It gave her enough that he was satiated. She’d have hers another time.

Chapter 17

Enfield House was a hive of activity. Michelle and Graham had been confined to the kitchen since the first uniformed officer had turned up to investigate George’s call to the emergency operator. Before the officer had even reported in an ambulance and second police car had arrived and now it was long past Michelle’s bedtime with no end to the evening in sight.

Graham stood, the pine chair scraping across the tiled floor and attracting the immediate attention of the female police officer guarding the doorway. “We need to go home. It’s eleven o’clock already and I’ve got to be up for work again in six hours.”

“Please sit down, sir.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m sure you can appreciate how busy the inspector is at the moment. I’m sure he’ll get to you as soon as he can.”

Michelle touched his arm. “It’s not her fault, Graham. She’s just doing her job. It can’t be easy, just standing watch over us.”

“I just wish I knew why. It’s not like we’re going to suddenly emigrate, is it?”

“They don’t know that. For all the police know, we could be contract killers about to skip town at a moment’s notice.”

“I doubt that very much. They wouldn’t leave one young lady in charge of two contract killers.”

“How do you know she isn’t a black belt in jiu-jitsu? I bet she could have your legs broken as soon as look at you.” Michelle pulled him back to his seat and yawned. “Look, officer?”

“Yes madam?”

“Would you mind if I made us some tea? It’s been hours since we last had a drink.”

“No. Go right ahead.” Her lips curled in what the Laverstone police generously referred to as a smile. “Just don’t pull a shooter out of the ice box or anything, eh?”

“As if!” Michelle crossed to the kettle and lifted it, mentally calculating the amount of water still inside. Satisfied, she switched it on and opened the cupboard where the Burbridges kept coffee mugs. She’d seen Angela make two rounds of drinks since they’d been sat here, offering Michelle and Graham nothing but a suspicious glare each time. She set out mugs and added tea bags. “Would you like one?”

“I can’t. Sorry.” The officer gave her a better smile. “Thanks for the offer though.”

“That’s all right. You didn’t happen to see where they kept the sugar bowl?”

“‘Fraid not. They might have taken it with them.”

“You’re right.” Michelle hunted through the cupboards, which seemed better stocked than her local supermarket, assuming you didn’t want sugar. She found some demerara amongst the packets of dried fruit and flour. It would have to do.

She made two cups and carried them over to the table. “Here you go. It’s only got brown sugar in, though. I couldn’t find the white. Is that all right?”

“It’ll have to be.” Graham curled his hands around the cup, though it wasn’t cold in the Enfield House kitchen. “How long are they going to keep us here for?”

“As long as it takes, I suppose.”

“I suppose.” Graham nodded up toward the high ceilings, where bunches of dried herbs hung from a Victorian airer. “Nice to know that however posh you are, the spiders invade just like your poorer counterparts, isn’t it?”

Michelle smiled. “Spiders like a warm house. Mind you, I bet they haven’t got damp in the cellar and dry rot in the eaves. How we can have both at once is anybody’s guess.”

“Aye.” Graham fell silent. Michelle didn’t interrupt him. She could see he was thinking by the furrows on his forehead. After several minutes he glanced at the police officer then leaned toward her and spoke in a lowered voice. “Did you kill her? Shirley, I mean. You were right next to her the whole time.”