Secrets at the Door: Tales from the Noctuary, #1

By Inka York

The secrets aren't at the door. They're already in the house.

 

Betsy's reluctance to lead the Merryweather coven puts her entire family in danger, and with an injured vampire showing up on their doorstep and a bloodborn harvest to resurrect, they can't afford mistakes.

 

When the coven is targeted on neighbouring Castle land, the only reliable witness is a young girl found hiding in the family mausoleum. But the girl is not what she seems.

 

Lotus is a secret keeper with a bind on her tongue. When one of the Merryweathers finds her unconscious in the woods, Betsy helps Lotus unravel her tongue, slowly learning the terrible truth about what her coven has been harbouring for years.

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This book features a fat, bee-keeping lesbian vampire, a pansexual well-demon in need of a haircut, and romantic elements (f/f & m/nonbinary). Although this book is a standalone, it features characters from the Not the Same River series, so reading both will provide a richer experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inklore Books
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781915708045

Book preview

Prologue

PARIS, 1923

On silent feet, she tiptoed across the expanse of polished wood, her knife tucked into her hand and a vial of chloroform wrapped in a handkerchief between her breasts.

The full moon painted the empty drawing room with slanting shafts of blue light and shadow through the tall, thin windows. The hazy silhouette of the Eiffel Tower stood sentinel in the lamp-foggy darkness. All was silent. The stars barely blinked for her; she had no interest in making them fall tonight.

She knew Matthew Revelle’s lover was here; she’d watched them sneak in several hours ago. It had taken three years to track Matthew down, and here he was in Paris, under her nose all along.

Matthew was in his study as always—some habits never died—and a sliver of fire glowed through the gap beneath the door, warming her feet. She crept close to the wall on the other side of the hallway, careful not to cast any shadows of her own.

The bedroom door was open, the scents of champagne and sex hanging above the figure sprawled face-down on the bed, backside smooth and golden above the tangled sheets around his legs. Muscular arms and shoulders hugged the pillow beneath his head. It was galling indeed to find her replacement was a man, especially one so much younger than herself.

She crept on to the door left slightly ajar at the end of the hall. When she first left Matthew, she had missed the little girl with her rapid speech and uncontrollably infectious giggles, but her own feelings were irrelevant. She had a higher purpose now. She couldn’t leave the girl with these men who lounged naked behind open doors. How could she leave her when Matthew didn’t understand the girl’s power?

She wasn’t surprised to find the girl’s name on the seer list. After all, she remembered every time the girl had gone still and silent, eyes on a passer-by who looked at her with fear or confusion or outright loathing. But back then, her mission had been to insinuate herself into Matthew’s household. To earn his devotion. But when her superiors learned Matthew had earned her devotion instead, they removed her, and Matthew hadn’t even fought for her.

This was her second chance. She tracked the seers; the seers tracked the vampires. What did she care what the guilds did with vampires once the seers found them? Vampires were an abomination.

She pushed the door open, eyes adjusting quickly to the dark room. The bed was empty, sheets crumpled to the bottom like the girl had woken and scrambled out in a hurry. She turned slowly, squinting into the inky corners, then checked beneath the bed. The girl wasn’t here.

It looked very much like she would encounter Matthew tonight, after all. The girl was probably tucked into a chair in his study, sleeping like a curled-up cat. A quick glance into the bedroom showed the lover still sleeping. She sighed. She really didn’t want to kill anyone, but she would be severely punished if she left without the girl. Once Matthew saw her face, she would have no choice. She could not afford to fail.

She didn’t knock, slinking quietly into the study instead, relishing the prickling warmth on her bare legs. Matthew didn’t even look up.

After casting a quick glance around the room for signs of the girl and finding none, she said, I imagine you were expecting someone different.

His gasp told her she was right. How did you find us?

Matthew was a handsome man, tall by nature, lithe from fencing, and with devilishly delicious thighs and buttocks from horse-riding.

Did you really think a blonde wig would render you unrecognisable?

How could you? he spat. When Raymond told me you were part of one of those godforsaken guilds, I defended you.

Keep your voice down, Matthew, unless you want that sun-kissed boy in the bed to meet my sharp end. She toyed with the knife, running a finger along the side of the blade.

Matthew lurched to his feet. I’ll kill you.

She laughed. You think this ends with me? You know there are others. At least I will do the job the easy way.

What easy way?

The other guilds intend to cut out her tongue, Matthew. We don’t do that where I’m from, and I know you do not want that. I don’t allow my recruits to come to harm.

Recruits? You mean slaves.

Do I look like a slave to you? Where is she, Matthew?

Safe.

She moved closer, pretending to sheath her knife, waiting for him to make his move. He wasn’t fast enough to stop the knife twisting in his gut. He slid to the floor, clutching his stomach, eyes pitch black in his pale face.

Matthew sucked in sharply. You’ll burn in Hell. He shuffled until his back hit the desk, each breath harsh like the scrape of sand on skin. And you’ll never… you’ll never find her.

The sharp scent of blood filled her nostrils when she leant over him to wipe off the blade on his trousers.

I might seduce your pretty boy before I slit his throat.

He groaned helplessly. No, no, no⁠—

She cut him off with a slash to his throat and sighed at having to wipe her knife clean again.

I will find her, she promised, while the life in Matthew’s eyes emptied as if through the gaping flap in his neck.

She left the study as quietly as she came, heading along the hall to the bedroom. She stood over the young man and trailed her knuckles down the smooth skin of his back.

Mm, come to bed, Matthew, he mumbled into the pillow.

Before he could roll over, she dug her knee into the small of his back and pushed her free hand down on his neck.

Matthew won’t be coming to bed. But you get to live if you tell me where the girl is.

He thrashed and struggled, trying to push himself up. Matthew! he screamed. Matthew.

She pushed down harder. He can’t hear you.

She’s safe, he mumbled. She’s safe from you.

Then he made the mistake of lifting his head to catch her reflection in the mirror, his mop of dark curls obscuring his own features and bleeding charcoal onto the pillow.

Oh, now you have seen my face, lover boy. Nobody sees the face of Asteria and lives.

She plunged the knife into his back—once, twice, three times—revelling in the gurgling sounds seeping from his overworked lungs. Your star is falling, she whispered. You should never have taken what was mine.

In the small apartment lobby, she shrugged on her coat to cover the blood and stepped into her boots. Adjusting the brim of her hat, she swept into the shadowy night, her head bowed to the stars.

1

Big Fat Circle

ATHERBOURN HOUSE, OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND, 1948

Twenty-five years later …

Samuel Merryweather was stick thin and dressed for a funeral; nobody had died.

He was every horrifying artistic rendition of a vampire that Betsy had ever laid eyes on—pinched, feral face, coolly assessing eyes, and lips like a pair of earthworms stretched over viciously sharp teeth. He was the most beautiful soul she’d ever met.

Why must I explain myself every time? he said. I’m not the least bit interested in leadership.

But you’re a father to us all, said Betsy, knowing she wouldn’t dare utter such sentimental claptrap out loud if the rest of the coven were here.

Betsy, it’s with great pride that I’m a father to you all, but I don’t want to be your leader.

You just don’t want the responsibility of wrangling Dorothy, she said, popping the last sliver of brandy-soaked honeycomb into her mouth.

I’ve put you forward, he said, a smirk twitching on his thin lips.

She scoffed, but his suddenly solemn expression sent the honeycomb into her throat. Oh, God, you actually mean it, she choked. Why would you do such a thing? You’re insane.

Samuel laughed, leaning back into the old brocade chair by the empty grate. Hm. That is not entirely inaccurate.

I don’t want it either. Maybe in a few years.

That’s what you said last time.

I was sixteen last time.

You’re not sixteen anymore.

Right, she said with a wink. I’m twenty-four.

Samuel chuckled. And the rest.

She rolled her eyes. She’d lived for forty-five years, but that was nothing. She was still twenty-four. She was. Maybe next time.

There won’t be another vote for decades at least.

You’re concerned about Edith’s appointment? Because you know the solution.

I won’t do it, Betsy.

She sat on the arm of Samuel’s chair and stroked his long white hair. I miss her too. Nobody can replace Rika. Nobody.

Samuel’s wife had saved Betsy from death when uncaring hands at a home for orphaned girls deemed her unworthy of life. Rika saved all the Merryweather children. And if Rika had been precious, Samuel was priceless. He was Betsy’s father, brother, and best friend, wrapped in one captivating, fastidious, and delicate but scary package. She wasn’t sure when she’d grown to love a face designed to give children nightmares, but love him, she did. Sometime during the thousands of hours he spent educating her with the patience of a saint and the dedication of a general, Betsy became charmed for life.

Samuel’s pale fingers wrapped around her free hand. One day, the coven will be yours. Just don’t make me wait too long. I’m old.

You’ve been saying that since I met you.

It has always been true.

Are you worried about Edith specifically? she asked, eyeing the last portion of blancmange, still sitting on the table beside Samuel.

She has a thirst for leadership.

She laughed. Oh, I know exactly where this is going.

He chuckled into his hand and reached for his wine. In a big fat circle.

If her thirst worries you—after all, you’ve told me a thousand times yourself that those who seek power are the least trustworthy to wield it—then why should your reluctance to seek leadership not make you a wonderful leader?

He nodded slowly. I could say the same of you, my dear. Besides, women make much better leaders than men.

She huffed, her gaze straying once more to the blancmange. Big fat circle.

Eat it, Samuel said, passing her the bowl. I know it’s your favourite.

It was. It really was.

2

Lotus

CASTLE LAND (THREE MILES NORTHEAST OF ATHERBOURN HOUSE)

Elias Castle waded through knee high grass to the west woods for some much-needed shade. Are you certain your grandmother is happy about you accompanying me today?

His grandson turned his face up with a sunny smile, stuffing his compass into his pocket. Of course. She didn’t want you getting into trouble.

He chuckled. I suspect she was talking about you, Adam.

The boy sighed heavily. But I never get in trouble. You’re the one who forgets where he digs holes, then falls into them when he isn’t looking.

The boy had a point. At eight years old, he was the most exuberantly curious child Elias had ever met.

You understand I’ll be working in the mausoleum today?

Yes.

And you know what’s in there?

All the dead people in our family.

It’s dark and cold in there. And it smells.

Of dead people?

No. Just mustiness and wet straw. And sometimes animals get in there, small ones. Field mice on the run from owls and foxes. The last time I cleaned it out, there were rats in there, and I don’t know how they got in.

Nana says a rat got into the house last week.

She exaggerates. It was a mouse.

Adam giggled. I like mice. They’re so soft, and their heartbeats are so fast.

Because they are small. Speaking of small… you have been staying away from the dig, haven’t you?

Of course. I’ve only been close to the river when you said I could.

Because they’re undertaking delicate work down there.

From their place at the edge of the woods, Elias tracked the sparkling river, his eyes settling on the men digging behind the ancient oak in the north field. He itched to join them, as he usually would, but Iris would have his guts for garters if he shirked his other duties. His wife was a tornado in a pretty hat.

I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up.

Elias smiled. You’ll make a fine archaeologist one day.

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