An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

They were rescued from what Em was beginning to feel was a treacly morass of emotion by the insistent burbling of her phone. She dragged it out of her pocket. It was Leodigrace so she answered.
“Em speaking.”
“Your wererabbit is completely insane, Emmeline. He won’t ever be fit to be allowed back into society.”
“Well isn’t that a surprise. And what’s with the my wererabbit crap?”
Leodigrace laughed, a deep sensual sound guaranteed to melt the knickers of any normal female. But Em wasn’t a normal female so she snarled at him.
“Did you have anything useful to say, doggy?”
It was his turn to snarl and Em laughed at his discomfiture. 
“Okay, Emmeline shall we call it an honourable draw? And I do have some information you may find interesting.”
Em put her phone on speaker.
“I’m listening.”
“The batshit crazy bat hater was actually being paid to exterminate the small fliers. He seems to have reported locally to one Sidney Harmsley-Gunn, but the paymaster was an American gentleman called Dominic Schilling.” Leodigrace suddenly sounded serious and profoundly formal. “Be very careful, Emmeline Vanderbilt, your little village has something someone somewhere is prepared to go to almost any lengths to get. And. Queen of Vampires, I am permitted to offer you the aid of weres, should it be that we can help.”
Em felt a prickle over her skin at his formal tone. Leodigrace was someone she respected, which was rare for a were. They were still early on in their own Time of Mitigation, having not read the way things were changing as quickly as the vampire community. So now they had the same kind of problems with rogues that Em had needed to confront a century past. She had some sympathy for that, although tempered by frustration at their folly in failing to see the signs and leaving it so late. 
But Leodigrace had been one of the first to listen and had even swallowed his pride to ask her advice on how it could be done for the were community. If he was now offering his aid then whatever plans Harmsley-Gunn had bought into would be disastrous for the village. So she answered his formality with her own. 
“Thank you, Father of Weres.”
He broke the connection and Em looked at Agnes who was barely keeping her anger in check, but it was Ginny who held her attention. The wispy woman whose surprising bravery had bought her near destruction was gone and in her place sat a proper vampire. She looked as cold as death and as implacable.
“Dominic Schilling,” she hissed, “is a creature without honour or compassion, Demonic Schilling is closer to the mark and he belongs to Ronald Dump.”
Em heard the name, but for a moment she was unable to make any connection to the words. 
Agnes was a different matter. “Ronald Dump? Well we aren’t having that bastard on our patch.” Then she began to swear, comprehensively and with real white-hot anger.
Then Em put the pieces together. “Dump? Fat, bald guy with more money than God? Builds upmarket ‘resorts’, drives out the locals and bankrupts the surrounding economies?”
“Yes,” Ginny snarled. “That awful excuse for a human being. If I am right he will already have bought most of the county council. That’s how he operates – carpeting cash over everything so he can stroll over the crushed bodies to his next photoshoot with the latest bigtime supermodel. And Schilling is his procurer in chief, his right hand flunky.” She almost spat her contempt. “We have to stop him. That werewolf you were talking to is absolutely right. Everything we love about this village would be devoured by his obsessive need to win. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone except himself.”
Ginny broke off and closed her mouth tightly as if afraid what might come out of it if she let it open.
“You have encountered him before?” Em prompted.
 “I lost a battle with him many years ago. He wanted to demolish some listed buildings to expand one of his hotels. We had all the evidence. We had the law on our side. But he corrupted the leadership of the planning department – who I happened to be married to at the time. So he won then. But I’m ready for him now. And this time it’s personal.”
She flexed her fingers and Em almost heard the bugle that was calling her to battle.
Agnes finished swearing under breath and looked at Ginny.
“First stop, Harmsley-Gunn?”
“He invited me onto the parish council, so I really should accept.”
Ginny managed a grin so vicious that it gave Em a good feeling about their new recruit. She had thought her a wet hen, but the youngest vampire in the country seemed to be coming out of her corner, brimming with passion and spoiling for a fight even before her Making was complete.

Part Twenty-Two of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

Emily poured Theo his Earl Grey tea in a delicate cup. It always struck her as funny, how someone so large and so intensely male could so enjoy the ritual of afternoon tea. But he had always loved everything about it, and because she loved him she had learned to love it too.

As he ate she watched him, storing memories for yet another lonely year.

The clock struck four and their precious hour was gone. But he didn’t waver and disappear. 

“You can come with me if you will.”

Emily stepped out of her body and took his hand. 

©️Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

Apble (noun) fruit that is a cross between an apple and an overripe banana

Blosh (adjective) a strangely washed out shade of pink commonly found in elderly ladies’ corsets

Crete (verb) to make something so slipshod that it falls over very quickly

Diffle coat (noun) an oversized coat (the sleeves of which usually brush the ground) bought by the mother of a seven-year-old on the theory that he/she will grow into it

Ho about (noun/adjective combo) indicative that a lady of dubious virtue is in the vicinity

Grubble (verb) to make strange moaning noises while asleep 

Interbalise (verb) to write absolute bollocks and think it literature

Sillock (noun) a blue fur ball commonly found in the navel

Snaggledoof (noun) a buck-toothed dog often found on instagram wearing unsuitable headgear

Sork (verb) to lick ones dinner plate with noisy enjoyment

Unack (verb) to be unable to cough up whatever is making your throat tickle

Wee-see (noun) the first successful use of the potty by a toddler

Wrek (noun) the corpse of a nerd killed by the snaggledoof for putting stupid hats on his head and posting pictures of same all across the Internet

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Brother and sister.
Supposed to be there for each other. Family. Closer than friends.
But Adam and I missed the memo.
We fought even as toddlers. Sibling rivalry on steroids.
He trashed my farm set so I trashed his comic collection. He mocked me at school so I spread rumours about him.
Until dad died in a crash. Somehow we grew up overnight. Mum needed us both and that brought us together.
Before, we’d turned our backs on each other. But dad’s death taught us what really mattered – who really mattered.
Now we stand back to back against the world.

E.M. Swift-Hook

Take this exclusive opportunity to consult the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica…

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return…

Aries 

This sign is a sucker for furry and cuddly, but not too keen on walkies. Aries has an affinity with long-haired cats and King Charles Spaniels.

Note: Do not ever take an Aries to an animal shelter. They will adopt the lot

Taurus

Perhaps surprisingly, given the lumbering nature of the sign, the ideal animal companion is something small and intensely portable. Give a bull a gerbil and they will be ecstatic.

Note: Do not expect a Taurus to put itself out for a pet that requires a lot of care and/or exercise.

Gemini

This sign swings both ways petwise. A Gemini will be happy with either a tarantula or a kitten. Nothing in between.

Note: The two-faced twins will deeply confuse dogs and are inimical to horses.

Cancer

The crab enjoys canine company of the large and drooling sort. Or goldfish.

Note: Good at dressage, especially all the going sideways bits.

Leo

What could the king of the jungle require as a pet? A Siamese cat? An elegant elkhound? An Arab steed? No. None of these. Leo gravitates towards beekeeping.

Note: Should your Leo require an indoor pet, stick insects are usefully easy to care for.

Virgo

Buy a Virgo a bunny rabbit and they will be happy forever. Or if they want a walking companion, the stars suggest a yellow Labrador – for preference one with attitude.

Note: Do not expect Virgo to deal with animal sexuality. They don’t.

Libra

The balanced nature of the Libran is made complete by pets that can be kept as pairs. Lovebirds are an obvious choice.

Note: Do not buy your Libra lover a tortoise. They will forget them during hibernation.

Scorpio

The snarkily poisonous nature of this sign is uniquely suited to the keeping of snakes, or parrots with a vocabulary of obscenities.

Note: Don’t buy a Scorpio a puppy, they will encourage it to bite people.

Sagittarius

The half-horse Sagittarius really bonds with horses, ponies, or hamsters.

Note: If a dog is needed, the Irish Wolfhound is nearly as big as a small pony.

Capricorn

Surprisingly, Capricorn does not get on with goats. They are best suited to being owned by scruffy terriers that fart a lot.

Note: Capricorn and cats is a combustible combination. There has not been a Capricorn born that won’t irritate cats enough to get their face ripped off.

Aquarius

Aquarians like fish. Both to eat and to look at. Feed them battered cod and buy then an indoor aquarium wherein they can watch brightly coloured swimmers.

Note: Aquarius will not tolerate any pet that wants to sleep with them. 

Pisces

Pisceans do not get on with fish. They are, on the other hand, deeply enamoured of guineapigs and whippets.

Note: Do not buy a Piscean a bunny rabbit. They will eat it.

When time dissolves
And faces melt
The human child
Can lose itself
The breaking world
The beating heart
All come unfurled
And fall apart
When dark lords turn
Their hand to time
Then futures burn
And nothing rhymes

JJ 2023

The Dai and Julia Mysteries are set in a modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules…

The Vigiles House occupied the back corner of the Basilica Viriconia so it was not too long a waddle for Julia to get there. She and Edbert were shown into Bryn’s office as he was just setting up a monitor screen on one wall. He looked over as the door opened and addressed the Vigiles officer escorting them in. “Fetch the Domina a comfortable chair, Dougal and a decent spiced tea.”
“No milk,” Julia said quickly as the Vigiles vanished briefly from sight, then returned with a cushioned chair which he placed with a good view of the screen before disappearing through the door again.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Bryn said and pointed to the screen which now showed an interview room with a single occupant. A nervous, scrawny man, dressed in a shabby coat under which could be seen a filthy-looking tunic. “I’ll be in there.”
Julia frowned and was about to ask what this was about, but Bryn had already swept up a folder from his desk and left the office. A short time later they saw him enter the interview room and run through the preliminaries of any interrogation. The man gave his name as Hepple Shalko and kept repeating that he hadn’t done anything wrong and didn’t know anything about nothing at all.
Bryn ignored that and cut to the chase as soon as the preliminaries were done.
“The reason you are here is that you told one of my Vigiles you’d seen a boat being loaded with cargo beside the forest. Do you remember saying that?” “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t rightly recall now.”
“We both know that you did, Hepple and unless you want to wind up getting accused of being complicit in the abduction of a Roman official, you might want to think very carefully about what it is you remember.”
“But I didn’t have nothing to do with no abduction.”
The scrawny man sounded more confused than upset by the accusation. “You can’t say I did.”
“Oh I can,” Bryn assured him. “I can and I will. And that would earn you a starring role in the main feature in the Arena.”
This time the protests were more voluble and frightened. Bryn sat back and linked his hands behind his head.
“So convince me, Hepple. Tell me what you did see and then maybe I might believe you weren’t involved.”
The redoubtable Dougal returned at that moment with a quite palatable spiced tea. Julia sipped at it as Hepple, prompted along by a persistent, thorough and patient Bryn, unburdened himself of what he had seen. It became clear that Hepple Shalko was a poacher. He had been out checking snares he had set in the forest beside the canal.
“I weren’t so close as I could see for sure but there were four of them, all wearing those face hoods, black ones. They had a boy with them. He was shouting and trying to pull away. That was what had made me go look in the first place. I heard that shout.”
“What was the boy shouting?” Bryn asked.
“Well, I’m not rightly sure.” Hepple looked unhappy.
“I think you are,” Bryn told him, “and it could be important. I need you tell me everything I think is important if we’re going to get you off the hook.”
The scrawny man licked at his lips as if they were too dry.
“It were ‘help’ he were shouting. Just that.”
For a moment Julia felt her heart break at the thought of Felix calling for help and no one being there. No one except this man who had, by his own account, done nothing, gone back to his snares and headed home with an unburdened conscience. The sole reason he had reported it was because when he went to the local taberna one of Bryn’s Vigiles had been in there offering to buy drinks for anyone who had something worthwhile to tell her. Even then he had only said that the boat had been loading cargo. Nothing about the child calling for help. It was only because Bryn had followed up on that and sent people to find Shalko that he was telling them now. Pathetic as he might be, Julia could not forgive him that.
The details came out slowly, along with a vague description of the boat and an eventual admission that there had been two bodies loaded aboard as well. By the end, Julia was gripping into the arms of her chair with fingers like claws. Edbert put a hand on her shoulder as the interview finished.
“You need to keep relaxed. It’s not good for the baby.”
This time she snapped. “If you or anyone else dares to tell me to calm down for the sake of the baby, I will lose my temper completely – which I assure would be much worse for whoever I lose it at than it would for my baby.”
Edbert removed his hand and just looked at her.
She glared back. “You expect me to sit here and hear about Felix calling for help and my husband’s body being…”
Then she was crying and hating herself for doing so. Edbert swept her up in a bear hug and held her close. It didn’t last long and by the time Bryn had come back to the office, she was restored even if probably still a bit puffy-eyed. If he noticed that, Bryn had the good grace and common sense not to comment.

An extract from Dying to be Fathers a Dai and Julia Mystery by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook

An everyday tale of village life and vampires…

“Post-menopausal, wise, calm and risk averse?” Ginny digested the news and grinned wryly. “So I qualify on at least one criterion.”
Agnes, who seemed supremely good at the ‘there, there, never mind’ bits of this conversation, offered a smile of fellow feeling. “You are probably better qualified on all counts than I was when I was Made.”
Em laughed. “You were a dreadful old tart. I was horrified.”
“I still am a dreadful old tart at heart. You’ve just got used to me.”
Ginny gazed from one face to the other. “Just how long have you two been friends?”
“A couple of hundred years, give or take a decade or so.”
Deciding to let that one sit and not think about it right now, Ginny asked the other big question that had been nagging at her ever since she’d seen the vicar become a giant rabbit. A wererabbit, Agnes had said.
 “Given that I have to accept that vampires are real, how many other supernatural beings are more than wild fiction?”
Agnes shrugged. “Most of them. There’s obviously weres and rather a lot of nature spirits. Weres and vampires are natural enemies, so we tend to keep out of each other’s way. And nature spirits are shy. Goblins are a problem if they aren’t regulated as they breed like rabbits and they will eat anything they can catch.”
Caught completely unawares Ginny shook her head. “How do you regulate goblins?”
“There used to be an annual goblin cull, but that got stopped in the last century when we discovered their numbers could be controlled by contraception. Now the females get an annual implant.”
Em looked sternly into Ginny’s face. “Which only leaves elves and fairies.”
Ginny clasped her hands together, her mind full of the flower fairy books she’d adored as a child and the majestic elves of Tolkein she had loved in her teens.
Em made a tutting noise with her tongue behind her teeth. “Never trust a fairy. And if you are ever unfortunate enough to meet an elf, keep your hand on your weapon and don’t take your eyes off the double-dealing little bastard.”
Ginny felt deflated. Was nothing as she had believed it to be? But then she realised she was being told all this for her own protection and sat up straighter. 
“What else do I need to know?”
Agnes picked up the ball. “For now? Not much. Em does the interface between the ‘normal’ community and the local supes, and she will introduce you to the various liaison officers when the occasion allows… Otherwise? Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth closed.”
“I think I can manage that bit. Do I get a teacher of any sort?”
“Yes. You get a mentor. Strictly speaking it should be Em. But as she is Queen and has far too much to do already, I’ll be deputising for her.”
Ginny felt a good deal of relief, as she was more than a bit intimidated by the formidably elegant and imposing Em, who raised a finger.
“Before Agnes takes you home and bores you to death with vampire lore I have two things to say. The first is a question. How are you fixed financially?”
Ginny felt herself redden, but realised honesty was the only possible policy. “Truthfully not as well as I had hoped. I can probably just about scrape by until I get my old age pension. If I’m careful.”
Em actually smiled, a kindly sort of a smile. “Sadly, vampires don’t get that pension, but the supernatural scheme is far more generous anyway. It’s kind of like unemployment benefits, but they can’t sanction you. The idea is that if we are given a basic level of support we’ll not be tempted to run riot. You qualify immediately and if you email me your bank details I’ll fill in all the forms for you and get it up and running straight away.”
It all sounded so normal and well organised that Ginny found her underlying anxiety at the strangeness of it all receding. She felt warmed by the thought of financial security, and her relief must have shown in her face because Agnes leaned across and gave her a hug. 
“I live very comfortable on the pension.” Ginny glanced at Em and Agnes laughed a big belly laugh. “No. She doesn’t need a pension –  being filthy rich and all that.”
Em sighed. “Thanks Agnes.”
“Better to get it out in the open. Things only fester in the dark.”
“I suppose so. But the second thing I wanted Ginny to understand is that she is now a Sister of our nest.”
Ginny understood this at some basic level of self. The word ‘nest’ suddenly summoned a powerful sense of belonging and she felt a tear run down her face. “Sisterhood being, if I understand it properly, both a duty and a boon.  You have my word that the concerns of the nest are now my concerns.”
Em inclined her head. “And care for your well-being and happiness is the duty and pleasure of your Sisters.”
Ginny felt as if she had received both a blessing and a task and above all it felt, in her heart of hearts, like coming home.

Part Twenty-One of Much Dithering in Little Botheringham by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook, will be here next week.

The bicycle looked somehow wounded as it lay across the path, as if thrown aside with careless cruelty.

There was evidence that something, or someone, had crashed, or been dragged, through the graceful waving foliage that bordered the forest walk. He followed, through the wrecked beauty, with every nerve and sinew braced in case rescue was needed. 

Then he heard the voices, a woman speaking softly and a man’s deep laughter.

“You so surprised me, love.”

He turned back the way he came, smiling ruefully.

When he reached the path, he propped the bicycle against a tree and walked away.

©JaneJago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

Agugust (noun) sometime between July and September when it is stinking hot and the world seems to be populated by toddlers with snotty noses and attitude

Beer mind (noun) the sudden increase in attractiveness of persons of the opposite gender often felt after pint seventeen

Craspid (adverb) of perambulation slightly sideways and with a halting gait. Often caused by one’s chums tying one’s shoelaces together as a jolly jape

Doign (noun) the sound a mattress makes during athletic sexual congress

Ehalth (noun) the persistent notion that your computer hates you

Ekkyskweek (noun) a dead mouse left in your wellington boot by next door’s cat 

Froup (noun) Facebook group populated by people with no friends in the real world

Glaffes (noun) magnifying devices used to spot giraffes and wildebeest in the local park

Humout (verb) the act of running in front of a speeding train with one’s genitalia on display

Interet (noun) stuff on the internet that bores the tits off people

Jubble (noun) possessions found stuffed behind the sofa cushions. Inevitably includes one button battery and a half sucked boiled sweet (hairy)

Lgung (noun) breathing apparatus to be used when one’s other half breaks wind in bed

Migged (verb, past participle) having had one’s possessions stolen in a drive-by conducted by pensioners in powered wheelchairs 

Purcess (verb) of cats – to use feline wiles in order to be fed treats by the gullible 

Shouold (adjective) of an elderly person – shuffling and indecisive, aware of what ought to be happening but wholly unable to force the issue

Tredberr (adjective) of training shoes – having holes in the soles but still looking cool enough to be worn by the young and stupid

Wonter (noun) the season between effing cold and not very cold

Workign (adverb) of mechanical devices, being almost fit for purpose

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.