The Guardian of Whitechapel

By Leska Beikircher

Sequel to The Witches of Whitechapel

Hallowe’en, Samhain, the night when worlds collide, when travel from this world to the next is possible ...

Detective Inspector Simon Stark asks himself whether people are inherently insane that night, or if things from other worlds possess us. This year, something may have crossed over, terrorizing Whitechapel, and it is up to Simon and his husband to make sure the horror stops now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646569465

Leska Beikircher

Leska Beikircher is a German-Italian Waldorf classroom teacher and freelance writer. She has been living in different countries and was fortunate enough to have met with many cultures in her life—more is yet to come! Leska is mainly writing stage plays for kids and teens.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Knit One, Purl One

Huw Stackpoole’s house, which now belonged to DI Simon Stark and his husband, DI Ralph Golding, basked in the morning sunshine. It had a nice view on the Thames that perpetually flowed towards the sea, carrying in its wake the debris and detritus of the city.

After inheriting the house, Simon had spent a considerable amount of time and money to clean and renovate it. The result was that today, seven years after its previous owner’s unfortunate demise, it looked less like the abode of a messy old man and more like a cover story from Vogue Living. Simon liked it neat, spacious, elegant, and in tune with the flowing energy forces. Everything had its place in the house, from the green tea in the cellar to the herb spiral in the garden.

And yet Ralph couldn’t find the bread.

He was the first one downstairs, because Simon’s morning routine in the bathroom was quite elaborate, and he had wanted to set the breakfast table. So far, everything had been in its proper place: tea, cups, pot, kettle, jam, Marmite. Ralph, who was more chaotically inclined than his husband, found it aggravating at times to live with someone as pernickety as Simon, but he admitted freely that it had some definite upsides. One being that everything was always in its place.

And yet Ralph hunted in vain for the bread. It wasn’t in the pantry, where it usually was. It wasn’t in the fridge, where it was when his daughter stayed over. And it wasn’t anywhere else, where it certainly never was anyway. How was he supposed to have his Marmite toast without bread? What came next? Tea without hot water? This was madness.

I couldn’t find the bread, he announced grumpily when Simon came downstairs. We may have pixies.

Simon looked at him with guilt in his eyes. He sat down at the breakfast table. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Is there something you’d like to tell me, love? Ralph asked. You must have had quite a midnight gobble, if you went through three packages of gluten-free bread.

I didn’t eat it, Simon said miserably. Look, there was this documentary on, and afterwards I did some very thorough research, and, well, it turns out that gluten-free bread is not actually very healthy. So I threw it all away last night after you’d gone to bed.

Ralph dug a little and rediscovered his inner patience. You chucked all our bread?

It’s unhealthy. I can’t let us continue to eat food that’s practically poisonous.

But the only reason we ate it in the first place was that we wanted to eat healthy. You said gluten was poison.

And now I stand corrected. Ralph, I’m sorry. I know you love your morning toast, but look on the bright side—we can buy healthy bread later. I already printed out a list of shops in London that have organic, whole-grain breads. My research showed that sourdough with a long rest before baking is easiest to digest and most nourishing. Let me ring up the shops alphabetically, and I’ll find out where we can best buy bread that supports our health.

Ralph groaned.

I can whip us up some porridge for now, Simon suggested, full of energy and zest that Ralph was lacking at the moment.

He sighed deeply, summoned his inner Zen, and replied softly, Porridge sounds lovely, dear.

* * * *

The porridge was indeed lovely. Ralph had two helpings. He was sipping on his third cup of tea while trying to locate his favourite scarf in the designated scarves & shawls drawer when the