Free The Mills of God by Deryn Lake

pulled well down utterly concealing its features. And then, moving at the speed of lightning, it stood up and bolted down a side aisle and once again reached the vestry and vanished. Nick shot after it but found the vestry door wide open and a cold wind blowing in. The creature had disappeared into the darkness and, quite honestly, the vicar had no intention of going to look for it.
    In bed that night, having made sure the vicarage was locked and bolted, it suddenly occurred to Nick that the vestry door had been locked that evening, as it always was except on Sunday morning. So the intruder must have had a key. The vicar sat bolt upright and it was then that he heard somebody coming up the stairs. Getting out of bed as quietly as possible, Nick seized a chair – the only thing resembling a weapon that he could find – and flung his bedroom door wide. There was nobody there except Radetsky who was sitting crouched, his tail swollen and his fur on end.
    â€˜William, is that you?’ called Nick.
    There was no answer but a slight sound from the landing told him that he was right.
    â€˜You’re frightening the cat – let alone me,’ he added. He bent down and stroked Radetsky’s fur back to its usual state. ‘Come on, Rad, you can spend the night with me,’ he said, and closed the door firmly shut.

EIGHT
    T he alarm went off at six and somewhat begrudgingly Dominic Tennant crawled out of bed and went straight to the kitchen where he made himself a large mug of black coffee. Slumped on a chair he considered his life and whether he was making the best of it. He loved his work, there could be no doubt of that. Enjoyed playing mind games with criminals and slowly tracking them down to the very heart of their ghastly crimes. He also loved acting and would far have preferred going to drama school to becoming an ordinary policeman on the beat. But the financial circumstances of his family had demanded that he get a job, a job with a definite wage, rather than take his chance in the extremely precarious world of the professional actor. So he had done the next best thing and had become an amateur one. An amateur with a great deal of talent but for all that still an amateur.
    The other thing that was definitely in a mess was his love life. He had married Fiona – a fellow thespian – ten years earlier. She had stayed around for three, steadfastly refused to have children, and then run off with her leading man, one Terry Belper. What had annoyed Tennant most about this liaison dangereuse was the fact that he would have been cast as Higgins had it not been for a demanding case he had been on at the time. But, he supposed, his job did have certain compensations, the forthcoming interview with Olivia Beauchamp being one of them.
    He had been a fan for years, ever since he had seen her as one of the five finalists in the Young Musician of the Year contest. She had not won but he had not agreed with the judges’ decision – had even written a letter to that effect to the BBC – and had followed her career ever since. A couple of times he had heard her play at the Wigmore Hall and been quite knocked out by her charismatic personality and elegant good looks. In fact he had had a slight crush on her for years in a manner quite unsuitable to a man of his age.
    Tennant poured himself another cup of coffee and thought to himself that the time had come for him to find a pleasant companion, someone who might actually love him and in whose company he could relax and be happy. Though there was a great deal to be said for the bachelor life it certainly had disadvantages as well.
    He got up and put two pieces of bread into the toaster, waited two minutes, then spread them with generous helpings of butter and marmalade. He was just crunching into the second one when the phone rang. It was Potter.
    â€˜Hello, sir.’
    â€˜What time do you call this? I’m still asleep.’
    â€˜Then