would only see the back of his head, but if he sat on the couchâ
âYesss!â Will said as Mr. Farley chose the couch. He squirmed closer to the grate, pushing Franny out of the way.
âStop it!â Franny hissed. âI canât see!â
âIâll let you look in a minute,â said Will, putting one eye closer to the grate.
She elbowed him in the ribs. âMove over!â
Poppy glared at them. âBe quiet! I canât hear what theyâre saying.â
Scowling at Will, Franny inched forward and tilted her head in order to see what was happening below.
â⦠and so, you see, I really had no choice,â Mr. Farley was saying. âMy great-aunt is, Iâm sorry to say, very fickle in these matters.â
âBut the letter she sent when she gave us the grant was so lovely!â Mrs. Malone cried. âWarm, encouraging, full of interest and enthusiasm for the world of the paranormalââ
âAs I said.â Mr. Farley sighed. âFickle. One day she has a passion for UFOs or ghosts; the next day she can talk of nothing but antique harpsichords or ancient Peruvian poetry. You arenât the first scholars Iâve had to give bad news. Why, I remember when I told Professor Rutland that his study of cave petroglyphs would no longer be funded. After twenty years of research, he felt that he was close to making a great discovery, but my great-aunt had met a young man who believed that there was a code hidden in an ancient Sanskrit manuscript that would reveal the day when the world would end. I have to admit, his theory sounded more interesting than anything Dr. Rutland had found looking at cave drawings, but still, it was a blow. Professor Rutland wept. A grown man, crying like a small child.â Mr. Farley shook his head. âAnd, of course, there were the wild accusations of lawsuits and other threats of a more personal nature. It took me almost half an hour to pry his hands off my throat.â
âThat must have been terrible for you,â said Mrs. Malone. âHe sounds rather unbalanced.â
âUnfortunately, even the mildest researchers react badly when their money is taken away,â Mr. Farley said. âThatâs why I carry a small can of pepper spray with me at all times. Of course, itâs always very upsetting to lose a grant. However, if one canât show any results....â
His voice trailed off.
âBut this Professor Rutland had twenty years of funding with no results,â Mr. Malone said quickly. âWeâve barely had a chance to get started!â
âAnd we came so close a few weeks ago,â Mrs. Malone added with rather desperate brightness.
Will closed his eyes. âPlease, please donât mention the vampires,â he murmured.
âYou see, we had heard on very good authority that there was a horde of vampires headed our way,â continued Mrs. Malone, rather breathlessly. âOur esteemed colleague Dr. Oliver Asquith had actually been attacked by one of them and had developed quite a bad limp as a result. He managed to kill a few of them, so of course the rest were bent on revenge. We had high hopes that they would track him to our door and that we would be able to interview them, perhaps take a few photosââ
Will closed his eyes and let his head drop so that his forehead rested on the grate.
âMaybe it will be all right,â Franny whispered, nudging him to move over so that she could get a better view into the living room. âMaybe Mr. Farley likes vampires. Some people do, you know.â
âEven though Dr. Asquith had actually encountered the vampires, unfortunately, so many supernatural experiences simply cannot be replicated,â Mrs. Malone was saying earnestly. âAs he explained to us later, the undead are quite sensitive to atmosphere. Apparently the vibrational frequency of our house simply did not appeal to them, and so they passed us