by L W Rogers
“There is only one way I can help you, Cadence. I need your blood,” she states so matter-of-factly. No sugar coating it.
“I don’t see how my blood -”
“I know someone who can help, but they will need your blood.” I look at her warily.
“Your mother’s blood runs through your veins. The only way to get to the bottom of who killed your mother is to connect with her. There is nothing more personal than blood to do that.”
“Very well.” I walk over to her and offer up my hand. I can see her pull her athame out from a small wicker box placed next to her, likely to be her small box of tricks she uses when trying to appease the Goddess. She slices the palm of my hand without a word. I wince briefly at the searing pain that follows. I see her place a small chalice under my hand. Closing my hand into a fist, she squeezes hard, ensuring the cup is filled to the brim. I pull away once she’s done and look at the wound. It’s no longer hurting. Whilst I look at the angry gash, I can see that it is already healing a lot faster than any of my other wounds ever have. I feel a quiet satisfaction from this new-found power. Valeria’s eyes are boring into me. Her gaze is heavy with accusation.
“I see your powers are advancing nicely.”
“I’m still working it all out,” I tell her, still admiring the newly healed palm, which has become a slither of pale white where the athame had ripped it open.
“Come. You must be tired. Let’s go inside and you can rest,” she offers as she places her athame back in the wicker box.
“I’m sorry, I really can’t stay. I have to get back. I have so much to arrange.”
“I understand.” She smiles. “I’ll get hold of my contact and keep you informed with anything that arises.”
“Thank you.” I take her in a hug. It should feel so familiar, but now feels as if I’m hugging a stranger. I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. After all it was me that caused her banishment. She was only trying to help.
“Here’s my number and email. Contact me at any time,” I tell her as I pass her the folded slip of paper. She walks me around the side of the house and to my car.
“Safe journey home, Cadence. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know anything. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be!”
Chapter 18
Blaine
Well, would you believe it? It’s raining in the bloody desert!
The fire of the Hell mouth warms my back, but the desert night is chilling my drenched threads. I’m not happy. I thought this was going to be some kind of adventure. Instead, I’m standing in a strange downpour drowning in my duds. Is that even a thing? Rain? In a desert? Maybe I brought my own giant cloud with me to accompany my black mood at being homeless. It’s more than likely. Regardless, this desert holds nothing for me, and I’m questioning why I didn’t just spirit myself off to England. That would have made way more sense than the situation that I currently find myself in. I’ll do that instead. Anything has to be an improvement on this scenario.
***
Fuck it all to hell!
I should have known that things could only get worse. Why did I assume that England would be better than the bloody Sahara? If I wanted more drama I would have gone to Stratford, not checked in for a show of the Tempest as an all-singing, all-dancing bloody musical complete with bass drums and a light show. It’s beautiful to look at but wreaking havoc on my brain. And what’s this fresh hell? Oh look, a flash of lightning! Cue the thunderous applause and...one minute...yep, there it is...the spontaneous birth of a migraine. And that, my friends, is what you get for trying to look on the bright side. I’m sure somebody up there is laughing at my expense right now. If Lailah was still there, she would be. Speaking of which, I have a job to do. Now, where to start?
I look around to gain my bearings. I know where I am right now. I’m standing in the middle circle in a row of three. On the horizon are the wild moors of Devon, which means that I am currently standing within the Hurler’s stones on the even wilder Bodmin Moor. Ah Cornwall, you beautiful, mystical paradise. I’m not sorry to be here. Not one bit.
Now, what I could do is remove myself from here, walk less than ten minutes round the corner and grab a nice pint of lager. I could use the time to try and find out if anyone knows where this Valeria is and do what I’m actually supposed to be doing. However, I know what will happen. I’ll get sidetracked. One pint will lead to another, beer goggles will be donned, and I will get well and truly waylaid by spending quality time with the locals.
I know what I should do, but it’s such a boring option. There is a tragic lack of people around, so I can’t ask anyone if they know where she lives. I’m going to have to communicate with the animals. With most of the creatures of this land hiding out due to the adverse weather conditions, it’s going to be a tougher job than I imagined.
I focus on the building standing between me and the ever darkening horizon. Tin mining was a major part of this land in days gone by, but where once the moor was bustling with the comings and goings of the miners, now the hills lie littered with the empty husks of a bygone era. Take this one, for example. It has been made into some sort of mini visitors’ centre for the humans to get a feel of how things were. A living book, if you will. Obviously, anyone with any sense will be locked away indoors with a hot drink and a warm fire burning. This works in my favour. If nothing else there should be some roosting birds making use of the building. If not, there’s a copse of trees over near the car park that overlooks the stunning views. That could be a possibility.
I head over to the abandoned mine building, its tall walls and imposing chimney stack a monument to all of those who lost their lives beneath my feet. I need only circle the building once and check the door to realise that there will be no luck here. So I head for the trees.
My feet slop through boggy ground, a squelching march on a one, two, three, four. As I approach the copse the only sounds I hear are the tinkle and splash of raindrops from leaves landing in the murky puddles that ebb and flow along the path. The air is uncomfortable here, the stench of rotten foliage and moss-heavy branches burning my airways. The land screams silently of all that is ancient and forgotten.
I pass into the protection of the canopy of trees, yet feel no life around me. Sure, the trees and other plant-life are doing their thing, but the animals are nowhere to be found. It’s almost as though they have abandoned all hope and emigrated to sunnier climes.
It’s then that I hear it; the subtle clack of beak, the shaking of rain from sodden plumes, and the cawed grumble of the dark birds. I flash a grin and head for the black depths of this other world.
I can feel their eyes on me before I catch sight of my first blackened flap. The gathering of previously silent carrion is now an orchestra of shifting feet, whooshing wings and strained caws. They are thrown off by my presence here, that’s for sure. But none of this is as disturbing as the silence that now falls. I sense the Old One before I see her, then lower myself onto a moss covered mound in deference to her status.
A flash of lightning illuminates the inner sanctum of the copse, and the giant bird descends in an impressive display of wings, talons and tail feathers. She lands next to me, cocking her head to one side and regarding me with curiosity and disdain through a single obsidian orb. I wait for her to speak.
“What are you doing here, daemon?”
“I’m looking for the witch Valeria.”
“Why?”
It’s a fair question. It should also be an easy question to answer, but I have to be careful how much information I share. I can’t possibly tell her everything as I cannot have the powers-that-be knowing of my quest. I don’t plan on failing. There’s too much at stake. So I temper my response with restraint. I’ll be as honest as I can, for a daemon. She wouldn’t expect any less, after all.
“I have been sent on a quest that requires some rather specific spell-work. Valeria is the only witch that has the knowledge to perform such a task. She has been specifically requ
ested.”
My response is met with a cackle and a ruffle of the oil slick feathers that decorate her element torn wings.
“And you expect me to hand over the information with so little to go on? Who, pray tell, has bestowed such a vague quest upon such a limited daemon as yourself?” This time her cackles are matched by those of her many associates. I wait for them to fall silent, before speaking once again.
“The order has come direct from Hell.”
It’s not a lie, per se. I was in Hell when it was given. The task just happened to be given to me by not one, but two fallen angels so to speak. Besides, Satan was the boss at one point, even if it was before my time. Lailah may not be a ‘fallen’ angel in the truest sense of the word, but she is incarcerated in Hell at the moment, and that’s close enough for me.
“Why do I feel like you are withholding something, devil’s spawn? Hmmmm?”
I shrug at her question.
“I’m giving you everything that I can.” Again, not a lie. Very unbecoming of my daemon status, I know.
“Let’s imagine for a minute that you are telling the truth. Why would we want to help you? Surely it would be more fun for us to watch you wander this moorland, at a loss as to where she is? Imagine the fun for us. Far better than any of this so called reality television the humans watch!” She shrieks at the thought and bats her wing tips together to clap out her glee.
I don’t allow her mirth to upset me. She’s right. I’m hopeless when it comes to finding my way anywhere. The ley-lines are my map, but actually arriving where I am supposed to be has been a hopelessly hit-and-miss task in the past. I’m lucky my compass has been functioning so well recently, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.
“As entertaining as I’m sure it would be for you, I’m equally sure that it would be harshly punished by the devil that sent me,” I retort.
The old one turns to face me and I catch sight of the blind eye that stares blankly at me from its socket. Where her good eye is as black as night, this one lies milky and opaque.
“You have a point, daemon. We can help you. Well, I can.”
“So you can give me directions?”
“I can’t do that. We don’t follow road maps or signs. But I can take you as the crow flies. You’ll have to hop in or on, whatever takes your fancy. I’ll get you there.”
“How long?”
“Within the hour.” She beckons to me and I gratefully accept the comfort of her body and buckle in for the ride. Being able to take up temporary residence within the shell of another is such a useful trick to have up one’s sleeve, don’t you think?
***
She was being cautious when she said within the hour. We’re lucky the weather continued on its path up country. It made the rest of the journey far more pleasurable than the first half where we were batted around by the wind and at constant risk of being hit by the lightning strikes. It was a wild ride indeed. That’s not to say that the weather now is beaming sunshine and cotton candy clouds. It is damp, and grey, not the best advertisement for buying a holiday home in Cornwall.
I clamber from my lift and thank the Old One for her help. She grunts and in a flap of ancient wings she is gone.
The first thing that strikes me is the smell of this place. On the surface the air is laced with the scent of lavender mixed with undertones of sage, mint and what seems like a million other herbs that I cannot identify as their number is so many. It is a pleasure for my senses, but on deeper inhalation I find that there is something rancid that lies beneath, like the wet death of leaves in Autumn. I choose to ignore it and focus myself on what lies ahead of me.
The low slung cottage is picture postcard perfect. Its thatched roof has faded yellow with age, whilst its white washed walls gleam brightly in the dim sunlight. Ivy snakes its way over the walls, grasping the house in its wandering grip. The gardens could do with a tidy up, but I suppose it’s all down to taste, and it blends with the wildness of the area that surrounds it.
I approach the door, and I feel a momentary hesitancy, although I am unsure as to why. Regardless, I make a fist and knock the door.
I wait for a response, but hear no movement inside. I knock again and the sound echoes loudly, but still nothing. Well, this is bloody great. I get all the way here and she’s out? This has to be some kind of warped joke.
I give up and head around the side of the building hoping to find a rear garden to the abode. As I break into what proves to be another wilderness that I assume is the garden, I hear a low, sweet melody coming from near the trees that line the back of the property. Dodging a large lavender bush I head towards the sound.
It becomes apparent as I fight my way through the overgrown plants that whoever it is seems to be moving away from me at a leisurely pace. I know that if I hasten my pace, I should catch them in no time at all.
I reach the tree line, only for my ears to be met with an overwhelming silence. As annoying as the repeated tune had become, I now yearn for it to start again so that I may speak to its owner, who at this point I believe to be the one and only Valeria.
The silence is becoming uncomfortable and the environment oddly claustrophobic. A sickly beam of yellow penetrates the trees dappling the floor at my feet. The fetid smell that was a mere undertone before is wrapping its rotting claws around my throat. As it overwhelms my senses, my head becomes light and my eyes water. Somewhere, a twig snaps. I move in the direction of the noise, hoping that my search will soon be over. I don’t notice the shadow that emerges from between the trees and plants itself in my path until it is too late.
“Oof.”
I find myself splayed on the floor at the foot of a large, moss covered tree.
“Well, hello dear. What brings you to these parts?”
The woman’s voice is as ancient as the woods that surround us, but the hand that is offered to me is smooth and unwrinkled. I take it and find myself surprised by the strength that she possesses. Dark sparks run within me from the fleeting touch, and I am aware that there is something foul running through her. This makes her all the more fascinating to me. It’s because of this I instinctively know who am dealing with.
“You must be, Valeria. I’m - “
“Blaine. I know. I’ve been expecting you.”
Chapter 19
Cadence
It’s nice to be home. The English weather drained me and it’s nice to feel the power of the Goddess as the sun shines down on me, giving me a much needed ‘pick-me-up’. I need all the energy I can get after the long forty eight hours of travelling.
Today is not going to be an easy day. There is so much that needs to be done. Foremost in my mind is my meeting with the board. It’s going to be a long day indeed.
I manage to get to my office early, not because I’m eager to get back to it, more to avoid everyone on the way. There will be so many questions about where I’ve been, along with the exchange of pleasantries etc., and I really don’t have the capacity to smile through that bullshit today.
A knock on the door and my receptionist Julie enters with a handful of letters and such, and what I can only hope is a large latte. She quietly places the paperwork on the ever-growing pile that has accumulated in my absence, and hands me the large cup. I inhale and enjoy the aroma of my latte, smiling in appreciation.
“Thank you, Julie. Has the board arrived yet?”
“No, they should be here shortly. I’ll call when they are all in attendance. There is one other matter I needed to bring to your attention, Miss Winters.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The fundraiser.”
“Shit!”
“I thought it may have slipped your mind, what with everything else you have going on.”
“Just a tad.” I look at my calendar to only come to the dreaded realisation that it is tonight. “Fuck!”
“Not to worry, Miss Winters. I have already got a variety of designer dresses brought in for you to choose from, along with everything else needed. Y
our hairdresser and beautician are coming in for six tonight and I took the liberty of contacting the venue and the organiser to ensure everything is all set their end, which it is.”
“Julie. You are a lifesaver. I will ensure you are thanked in your next pay check.”
“No need, Miss…” I hold my hand in a gesture to stop her from arguing with me. She has done me a great service and she has been on the ball when I have not.
“Do I have any other commitments today after the board meeting?”
“No. I cleared the rest of your day so you could catch up and also ensure you were ready for tonight’s event.”
“Thank you.” She nods in response and then leaves.
I could really do without the fundraiser tonight. It is going to be a sombre occasion once the board find out about my mum. She is usually the one that gives the big speech. It’s now left to me to fulfil and I’m going to have to tell everyone of her passing. The thought of speaking to such a crowd is gut-wrenching enough but to have to endure all the bollocks of false sincerity and condolences is enough to tip my mood completely.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a migraine incoming. I open my bottom drawer and sift through the crap that has accumulated in search of pain relief. I throw the pills to the back of my throat and take a large slurp of my latte to wash it down with, relieved it isn’t scalding. I return to the ever-growing pile of letters and begin to make my way through them before the meeting begins. I really hate this part of the job. I could do with hiring someone to help with all of this bullshit.
My phone buzzes, causing me to jump. It is Julie informing me that everyone is here. My heart begins to race further and my stomach begins to knot in nervousness. I can feel the queasiness from the anxiety that is now rising within me. I grab my jacket and slip my heels back on and head to the boardroom. As I walk past, I can just about make out where everyone is placed through the large etched glass wall. It provides just enough privacy from the outside world, but allows plenty of natural light to enter it. I see that Gregory, our trusted solicitor is pacing the room, wearing out the carpet in his wake.