The Devil You Know Read Free Page A

Maureen’s crazy sister.
    This place was really getting to me.
    Barrett came in, pushing an innocuous tea trolley.
    I hid my relief, replacing it with brief puzzlement. A teapot, cups, and saucers were on the trolley.
    At his gesture, I found a chair. He sat opposite and poured from the pot, prim as an old maid on Sunday. He offered me a teacup filled with still-warm blood.
    It was the damnedest thing I’d seen in at least a week.
    “Is it all right?” he asked.
    “Uh . . . ”
    “Sorry, I should have inquired first. I assumed you might be hungry after your trip.”
    “It’s great, really. I just never thought of having it like this.”
    “Never?” He poured a cup for himself. “You prefer to take it on the hoof?”
    “Uh. . .lately I buy a quart or two at the butcher and keep it in beer bottles in the ice box.”
    “Doesn’t it go bad rather quickly?”
    “I drink it off too fast. Saves trips to the Stockyards when I get busy.” The teacup had painted-on flowers, liberal gold edging, and I felt like an over-ripe sissy sipping from it.
    Barrett didn’t seem to have the same problem. The delicate porcelain looked natural in his hands, not at all awkward. He finished half his portion and gave a little sigh of satisfaction.
    On that we agreed. The horse blood—I knew the taste—was very good.
    “Is Haskell still here?” I asked. He’d been in charge of the horses and had helped me draw blood from them in a hasty effort to save Barrett’s life.
    “Yes, but he’s away on holiday along with the other servants. It seemed best to not have them around for the time being. We’re quite on our own.”
    With interest I saw the whites of his eyes flushing deep red as the blood spread through him. Mine would look the same. “Miss Francher’s gone, too?”
    “Yes. Away shopping.”
    There’d been a slight hesitation to that yes . “Shopping?”
    “Off in the city. Dress fittings and such, see some movies, take in a few plays.”
    I drained off my cup and managed to put it and the saucer back on the trolley without breaking either. “You’re a piss-poor liar, Barrett.”
    He snapped a glare my way, shoulders and spine stiffening. “I am no liar, sir.” But he didn’t challenge me to a duel, so I was on the right track.
    “You left something out, though.”
    “Emily has gone to the city, as I said.”
    “And?”
    “None of your damn—” He cut off and shook his head, slumping a little. “Oh, bloody hell.”
    The room got quiet since neither of us had a heartbeat. I waited him out.
    “What does it matter?” he finally muttered. “You might as well know. She left me.”
    The hell? “You’re kidding.”
    But his visible pain said it all, explaining his general scruffiness and fatigued manner. “When?”
    He grunted, shaking his head.
    “But you were together for so long.”
    He gave a soft snort. “Not really.”
    Yeah, to someone his age those years with her were an eye-blink. “Anything set her off?” Maybe the massive exhumation within sight of the house had been too much.
    “This was some while in coming.”
    Escott should be here. He was good at this kind of stuff and friends with the man. Barrett barely knew me and wasn’t thrilled about it. Making no comment seemed the best way to get him to talk. In this silent house one of us would have to say something.
    He put his cup down, made a fist, and thumped it gently against his chair arm. “The last year has been . . . difficult. But it started before then.”
    I made one of those encouraging sounds in the back of my throat.
    “The first few weeks after her change to this life were not easy, but we got through it, and things were wonderful for a time. And then it began to fall to pieces so gradually we didn’t see what was happening. We had rows over nothing yet didn’t talk about the real problems. Too afraid to, I suppose. There is a great security to being in love. One does not want to face the terror of its death, so you pretend it