Secrets In The Bones: The Curse of Blood Bay

Twenty-three

The phrase "Silence was deafening" had never been more apt. An eerie hush descended like a suffocating shroud, smothering all sound in its oppressive grip. It had begun after the haunting shriek had faded into the void, and my thoughts swirled in a chaotic maelstrom. I lost myself as Mary and Dianne exited the room, leaving the grotesque head in a box perched on the table, a gruesome centrepiece to our gloomy gathering. Ellena, unsure of how to approach the situation or me, moved about, her balletic grace belying the turmoil churning within her.

Then, the welcome rumble of a familiar engine broke the stillness and Ellena's face registered surprise. It wasn't an unpleasant surprise, but added another question to her growing list. As for the silence, it was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable companion. My mind was a whirlwind, attempting to connect the dots and fathom why the McNallys would brazenly deposit a decapitated head on our doorstep.

A head severed by their business partner, no less. Of course, it wasn't the same head I had witnessed being hurled at David McNally; this one was far more gruesome. Its eyes were gouged out, its skull crushed, and its facial features mutilated beyond recognition, as if it had been used as a football in some grotesque game.

At first, my eyes sought the telltale vampire claw marks at the top, where Amos had attacked, followed by a search for werewolf claw imprints, wondering if it had been intended for the creature imprisoned in the cave. But there were no such marks to be found. What I discerned, after meticulous examination, were the puncture wounds, now oozing blood, teeth, and brain matter. A vampire, Amos, had turned the head into a grotesque sieve, perhaps to satisfy their unholy thirst.

Yet, the logic or tactical advantage behind delivering this gruesome message to us eluded me. Other than confirming they were aware of their pursuit, why would they assume I had survived a wolfsbane-laced bullet? Were we now unwitting participants in a deadly game, hunted like prey for their amusement? Did David McNally harbour delusions of being a werewolf hunter, collecting trophies to add to his gruesome collection?

In my eyes, this severed head seemed sloppy, a far cry from the calculated menace that Amos had warned McNally about. Despite his physical tremors, part of me suspected David had a grander scheme in mind, one that required a patient, long-term approach.

David's desperation was clear; he longed for his wife to be free from her ailment, to shed the debilitating posture and frailty that had befallen her, a condition detectable perhaps only to vampires and our kind. I pushed that thought aside for now; it was just another stark reminder of her condition. To witness such a transformation daily would undoubtedly drive any man to extreme measures.

Yet, the elaborate plan to capture a single werewolf, let alone the rumoured many, suggested there was more to the McNally clan than met the eye. We needed to tread carefully, as did our vampire allies.

The previous night's events had prompted me to play one of my cards, which I had kept up my sleeve until now. As bedraggled reinforcements arrived, Michael's displeased expression was palpable as he stepped out of his impeccably maintained Audi Quattro. He filled the Scottish air with cigarette smoke, his irritation clear.

"Oi, you bloody magnet for trouble. Do you have any idea how much fuel I burned racing here? It had better be worth it, making me challenge grannies in Ford Escorts at traffic lights," Michael grumbled.

"Michael? You prat. I apologise, but desperate times, you know. And just so you know, the excessive fuel consumption is your fault for owning a 3.2-litre beast and having a lead foot," I retort, a hint of a smile creeping onto Michael's face, mirrored by Ellena as they embraced.

"At least you've got him talking. The grumpy sod hasn't said a word all morning," Ellena remarked as they separated, her embrace reassuring, conveying no ill intent.