Free Avalon Revisited by O. M. Grey Page A

nodded again.
    She remained bent over the table until I was out of sight. Before she could’ve taken another breath, I was out of the building completely and halfway down Gray’s Inn Road. Once I was back en route to Knightsbridge, I uncovered my face and kept to the shadows, moving more quickly than human eyes could see. Well before dawn, I arrived home to a darkened house, got undressed, crawled into bed, and drew the curtains around it, satisfied. I settled into sleep, hoping to dream of Avalon.

     

Chapter 6
     
    I awoke the next morning to Cecil standing over me. Once my eyes focused, I could see just by his stance that he was quite cross. Hands on his hips, he stared down at me like an angry wife would to a lazy husband.
    “What is it, Cecil?” I rolled over and covered my face with the blanket. Not my ideal morning.
    “This,” he said, tossing the newspaper onto me. I picked it up and looked at the headlines: VAMPYRE STRIKES AGAIN .
    “But...” I stammered.
    “This is laying low, m’lord? Twice in two nights? Pardon me for saying so, m’lord but this is too risky. I like it here, and you’re jeopardizing our place.”
    “Don’t be insolent, Cecil. I didn’t do this,” I said throwing the newspaper back and him and pulling the blanket over my eyes again.
    “A whore–found in a compromising position in the Chamber of Horrors. Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t do this? Do her?”
    That got my attention. I sat up, alert, and wiped the blur from my eyes.
    “I did. I mean, I was with a whore in the Chamber of Horrors last night, but I didn’t kill her.
    She was quite alive when I left.” I snatched the paper back from him. This was no way to start a new week. “Just give me a moment to read the article, Cecil. I’ll have tea on the balcony in ten.”
    “As you wish, m’lord,” Cecil replied and then left my bedchamber.
    “And remember who’s lord of this manor,” I called after him.
    He slammed the door. Getting more brazen by the day.
    I read the article:
    Police were called to the notorious Gray’s Inn Brothel, owned by Madam Jeffries, during the early hours this morning. There they found a prostitute brutally murdered. The woman in question was found by Mrs. Porter, the night attendant, strapped to a table in a compromising position with her throat ripped out and several superficial cuts upon her back. Police have yet to release any further details, but they mentioned that the scene was reminiscent of the previous murder at Lord Pemberton’s two nights ago. No other persons on the scene were harmed. Mrs.
    Porter told police of a medium-height presumably Irish man who came in late last night and requested that room specifically. She said all of his face and body were covered except for his eyes. She added that this was not uncommon to their clientele, as many are prominent members of London Society. The only clue the police have to go on was the black scarf that gagged the prostitute’s mouth, assumedly left by the killer. Further details reported as available.
    “How inconvenient.” I thought about the events of last night, certain I didn’t hurt her enough to kill her. Most certainly didn’t ‘rip out her throat.’ Not even a nibble. The only wounds I left were made with the finger blade. Confounded, I put on my dressing gown and went down to tea, taking the newspaper with me. The table by the window was already set. There were fresh-cut flowers in a vase and a plate of current scones, my favorite non-human food. Moments later, Cecil came in with the tea, poured me a cup, and turned to leave.
    “I’d like two drops this morning, Cecil,” I said to his back.
    “You’ve already had enough, m’lord,” he replied rudely without turning around.

    “Now see here,” I said in a not too-friendly voice, rising from my seat. “This is still my house and you still work for me. Come back here, Cecil; I will not abide further insolence.”
    Cecil returned like a