by Alys West
He nodded, unsurprised. The clatter of plates came from the kitchen. Lunch must be nearly ready.
He gestured to his staff. “I’m going to need to take that with me.”
“I know. That’s why you’ve come.”
“It’s not the only reason I’ve come. I wanted to see you and Mum.”
“Yeah, right,” Cat said, twisting round to reach the staff.
“Have you had it with you all the time?” When he’d pressed it into her hand at Anam Cara he’d thought it was only for a minute or two. He shook his head. He’d been a bloody cretin.
“It makes me feel better,” she replied. Finn smiled. He knew exactly what she meant.
Instead of holding it out to him, Cat folded her arms around it, her eyes suddenly wide with fear. “You need it because you’re going back there, aren’t you?”
He opened his mouth to deny it. The lines of tension etched on his sister’s face, her red-rimmed eyes made him stop. If he didn’t tell Maggie and Cat what was coming then he protected them from worry over the next few days but was that the right thing to do? Should he leave them totally unprepared if the worst did happen?
He couldn’t lie to himself. Despite the confidence he’d shown with Zoe earlier there was a chance, a not insignificant chance, that he wouldn’t come back. That whatever he and Winston planned, with the foreknowledge Zoe could give, wouldn’t be enough to stop Maeve killing him. If that happened he didn’t want his family to keep hoping he’d make another miraculous return.
Sinking into the chair next to Cat he took her hand. “Yes. I’m going back. I have to finish this. Winston’s coming down later to help.”
Cat let the staff tip forward until it was within his reach. “You will be careful, won’t you? Really careful. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again.”
Finn’s fingers closed around the wood. Pulling it from his sister’s hand, he slammed it to the floor and the precious connection flowed through the staff, along his arm and into his heart. He felt the pounding of the sea against the shore a mile and a half distant, the tender roots of springtime burrowing through the soil, groundwater squeezing through fractures in the rock beneath his feet. Muted because it flowed to him through concrete and tile but present and identifiable and connected to him again.
Cat’s voice intruded. “I’m serious, Finn! Promise you’ll be careful?”
“Alright, sis. I’ll be careful.” Finn’s tone was mocking. With his staff in his hand and the connection returned he felt euphoric, lightheaded.
Suddenly, he wanted to see his sister smile, to wipe the worry from her pallid face. Even if it was only for a minute. He still held the wooden apple. With the energy flowing through his staff, it was child’s play. Grinning, he channelled a trickle of awen, enough to make the apple spin in mid-air.
Cat folded her arms. “And now you’re just showing off!”
“So?”
“So I’m not impressed by your party tricks.”
He knew that and it’d always pissed him off. She was one of the few people he could do them for. “Humour me, will you? It’s been a long time.”
With a flick of his wrist he sent the apple spiralling through the air to whirl above his sister’s head. He tapped his staff on the floor and the apple broke into two pieces, white blossom cascading out of it, petals falling like confetti over her. With a quick laugh of pure pleasure, he caught the two halves, closed his hand around them and fused them back to a whole.
Then he looked at Cat. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs shaking her body.
“It wasn’t that bad!” he said.
“It...it was beautiful.” With shaking fingers she plucked petals from her clothes.
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because that’s it, isn’t it? The reason Maeve wouldn’t let you go.” When Finn didn’t reply she added, “It’s because of your magic?” Taking his silence for agreement, Cat leant forward, her hand clutching at his sleeve. “Then don’t go back. Forget what I said earlier about -” Cat screwed her face up and spat the word out “- Maeve being the reason I’ve not got better. I was just feeling sorry for myself.”
“Like that makes a change,” Finn muttered. He knew it was harsh, knew exactly how she’d react. He didn’t care, wanted only to stop her words, to halt the emotions they were triggering.
Cat drew away as if she’d been scalded. “I was going to say, if you’re going back to Anam Cara for me then don’t. But -” she folded her arms “- forget it.”
Finn rested his forehead against his staff as his hands ran reflexively up and down it. Eventually the sofa creaked as Cat turned to him. “I’m scared for you,” she whispered.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he fought the desire to make light of her worry. “It’s going to be different this time. I’ve got this -” he picked up his staff “- and I’m not on my own. Winston’ll be there and there’s a seer in Glastonbury who’s giving me some invaluable help.” He leaned forward, entirely focused now on making his sister understand. “I have to do this. Maeve’s still taking energy from people. I know most of them won’t suffer any permanent damage. But what about the next person who arrives there with a gift or who, like you, carries magic in their blood? Would you have them go through what you did?”
“No. Of course not.” Tears pooled in Cat’s eyes as she stared at her brother. “But that doesn’t make it your job to stop her.”
“Who else is going to do it? The Order’s gone.” Finn spun away to stare out at the garden. “It’s too late anyway. Even if I drop it, Maeve won’t.”
“Oh my God! Are you sure?”
Zoe’s drawing of the stone circle flashed uneasily into his mind. “One hundred per cent certain,” he said.
* * *
In Wells cathedral, Zoe frowned at her drawing of Lancelot and Guinevere snatching a clandestine moment together. The stone staircase that climbed from the aisle to the Chapter House made the perfect backdrop for the legendary lovers. Guinevere looked unattainably lovely in an exquisite dress. Lancelot exuded confident physicality in his chain mail, sword at his hip, helmet in his hand.
It was his face she had a problem with. She’d just finished sketching it for the third time and he still looked exactly like Finn. Thinking some swear words she couldn’t say in the house of God, she picked up her rubber and erased Lancelot’s head.
Closing her eyes she took her mind back to Sunday afternoon, sitting in the sunlight in Glastonbury Abbey. The drawing she’d done that day came to mind. She saw Lancelot in bright armour, the effortless way he held his sword and his remarkable resemblance to Finn.
She shook her head. She must be remembering it wrong. Taking out a different softer pencil she tried again. This time she didn’t bother finishing. The deep set eyes, the stubborn chin and the unruly hair showed she’d made the same mistake again. Oh for f... heaven’s sake! She didn’t normally have a problem remembering work she’d done before. Was she so infatuated that his was the only face she could draw?
Pushing tendrils of hair away from her face, she had to admit she’d thought of him a lot in the hours since they’d parted. Especially the moment after they’d left the cafe when - during what had almost become an argument about whether she should accept his offer of a lift to Wells - he’d said, “Why is it so hard to understand that I need to know you’re safe?” She’d stared at him, wondering if he really cared as much as his words suggested. Then he’d grabbed her hand and headed towards the car park and she followed, stunned into temporary silence. She’d not even put up much of a fight when he asked her to stay in Wells until he could pick her up.
She hoped he’d be back soon. And not only because she wanted to see him. She needed her portfolio. She shook her head trying to chase away the fear sparked by the thought of going back to Anam Cara.
She had no choice. She’d made good progress today – inspired by the gothic architecture of the cathedral, Camelot was finally taking shape – but she couldn’t m
anage without the work she’d already done.
Deciding she’d finish this sketch when she had the picture of Lancelot in front of her, she slid it into her pad and stood up. Stepping carefully on the worn, shallow steps she walked up the staircase she’d just drawn.
Chapter 22
Late afternoon shadows crept across the grass in front of Wells cathedral. Zoe sat on a bench with her back to the waist high wall surrounding the cathedral close. A little sleepy from her disturbed night’s sleep, she ate grapes and Facebook messaged Tanya while she waited for Finn. He’d texted over an hour ago saying he was about to leave Lyme Regis.
It’d been half past four when the flurry of preparations for evensong distracted her long enough to realise she was starving. She’d wandered back into the sunshine, bought a sandwich, coffee and some fruit and eaten them in the garden at the back of the cathedral. Then she’d walked around its exterior, drawing flying buttresses and beautiful gothic arches until tiredness had caught up with her.
Her phone beeped again. Picking it up, she saw another message from Tanya. Zoe had started by apologising for not going back yesterday but Tanya had told her not to worry. She was a little better today, the throwing up had stopped but she still felt weak as a baby. Feeling like the least she could do was provide a distraction, Zoe had given Tanya a heavily edited account of meeting Finn. Tanya’s latest message said, “You lucky lady! Tell me everything. What does he look like?”
Actually you’ve seen him, Zoe thought. He’s the man you saw in the garden on Sunday night. The one Maeve convinced you wasn’t there. Obviously she couldn’t tell Tanya that so she settled for the typical girly reply of “Gorgeous!” She felt vaguely unsettled after she’d sent it. She’d made it seem so straightforward to Tanya whereas actually there were so many complications, so many things he hadn’t told her, that she’d absolutely no idea where to start with unravelling them.
Her phone beeped and she snatched it up. It was Finn wanting to know where she was. She’d expected that she’d meet him in the car park where he’d dropped her this morning and they’d go straight back to Glastonbury. This text opened up a whole other set of possibilities. Rapidly, she texted back. Then she felt breathlessly, giddily excited. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and brushed it, applied a smear of lip-gloss.
Her phone flashed with another message from Tanya. “When you seeing him again?” it said. “Now! I’ll fill you in later,” Zoe sent back.
Trying not to look as if she had nothing to do but wait for him, Zoe kept her phone in her hands, scrolling through Facebook to catch up with what her other friends were doing, but unable to stop herself glancing up every time she heard footsteps. Reading her friends’ posts made the unsettled feeling return. Their lives continued as normal – jokes, nights out, bad days at work – whereas her life had spiralled into something completely unexpected. What comments would she get back if she posted, ‘Met a really great guy. Strange thing is I dreamt about him before I met him. Turns out I’m psychic! But that’s not the weirdest. Now the woman who owns the B&B where I stayed wants to kill him!’ They’d think she was joking. Five days ago she’d have thought the same.
A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped sky high as a voice she knew said in her ear, “Hey Zoe!”
“Where the hell did you come from?” she said, swivelling in her seat. Finn vaulted effortlessly over the wall, carrying a tall polished wood stick.
“That way.” Finn pointed in the direction of the mediaeval gateway guarding the entrance to the cathedral close. He looked different in a blue shirt that brought out the colour in his eyes, smart indigo jeans and polished shoes. He’d shaved and his hair was almost tidy. Abruptly she remembered that she was wearing rather crumpled clothes she’d put on yesterday morning.
Zoe’s hand covered her pounding heart. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” Finn said, with a grin that was anything but apologetic and Zoe found her heart racing for an entirely different reason. “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink to make up for it?”
“I thought we were going to Anam Cara to get my things,” Zoe said as she stood.
“We will. Let’s have a drink to get our courage up first.”
“Alright, if you insist. The only problem is...” She fanned her hands out.
“What?”
“It’s going to take a lot more than one to make me brave enough to face Maeve!”
Finn laughed. They walked across the square of grass in front of the cathedral, leaving the close through the gothic arch of another gatehouse. “What’s that?” Zoe pointed to the stick in Finn’s hand.
“It’s my staff. My sister had it.”
Zoe frowned. “What’s it for?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.” Finn pointed to a large half-timbered hotel across the market square. Zoe glanced up at him again. It wasn’t just the clothes that were different. There was something more indefinable. A kind of confidence that made him seem – which was obviously totally impossible – even taller.
Finn opened the hotel’s door and gestured for Zoe to lead the way into a low ceilinged bar. Other customers were talking quietly in suits and shirts relaxing after a day at work. “Red wine?” he said and she nodded. Returning with half of Guinness and a glass of red, Finn pointed at a few tables in a courtyard outside that caught the last rays of the sun.
“Good idea.”
She followed him out. Only a few of the tables were occupied, a couple were having an intense conversation near the door and a lone smoker cradled a pint glass. Finn chose an empty table at the far end of the row. He pulled the chair out for her, held it while she sat. He’s being very attentive, she thought, as he took the seat opposite and carefully propped the tall stick against the arm of his chair.
Almost as if this was a date. It can’t be, she told herself sternly, trying to catch the hope that had taken flight. But it soared away, gleefully reminding her that he’d asked her for a drink, that he looked dressed for a date.
She stared down into her wine glass, fighting back a huge delighted grin. Finn took a gulp of Guinness before asking about her day. She found that she didn’t have much to say as she couldn’t tell him about her problems with Lancelot’s face and she didn’t want to admit she’d been in contact with Tanya. She quickly changed the subject and asked about his Mum and Cat. She could tell from the hesitations and way he shoved his fingers through his hair when he spoke of his sister that the visit had been as difficult as he’d expected. The highlight had clearly been lunch which he described with the relish of a starving man.
“Sounds like a real feast. Your Mum must be thrilled that you’re home from New Zealand,” Zoe said.
Finn tensed, his grey eyes suddenly cold. “You could say that.”
Zoe frowned. What now? Why had her seemingly innocuous comment made him close up again? She considered pushing it, asking him directly why her words made him uncomfortable but she didn’t. Just in case this was actually a date she’d keep it light, stay away from the difficult stuff for once.
“You’re lucky,” she said with a bright smile. “My Mum’s a lousy cook. Fortunately her new man, Max, is really good and she no longer lives on Marks & Spencer’s ready meals. I honestly grew up thinking St Michael was the patron saint of cooking.”
Finn laughed, a warm, deep sound that sent shivers deep inside her. He took a sip of Guinness and then launched into a convoluted tale about him and Winston on a camping trip in Western Scotland that involved a Swiss army knife, two trout and an awful lot of whisky. And suddenly, effortlessly, they were having the kind of ‘getting to know you’ conversation that she’d been craving.
Before she knew it their glasses were empty. Finn asked if she wanted another one. “Dutch courage,” he said and the spell was broken.
She shook her head. “I’d love to but I don’t think I should. If I’ve got to face Maeve then I need a clear head.”
“Right.” Finn sounded distracted. His hand str
ayed to the wooden stick propped against the arm of his chair. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes studying her face. “Before we go there’s something I said I’d tell you.”
Remembering what they’d talked about this morning Zoe nodded. “Why the doll’s so important to Maeve?”
“Yes, that’s part of it. But there’s more to it than that.”
She took a deep breath. This was finally it. The moment she’d been pushing for when he’d reveal the meaning behind all those cryptic comments. “I’m listening.”
Finn leaned forward, his eyes on hers. “What I’m going to tell you will challenge some things you think you know but it will answer your questions. But you’re going to have to keep an open mind. Okay?”
She thought she saw something that looked surprisingly like apprehension in his grey eyes. “I’ll try,” she said slowly.
“When you said on Tuesday night that you thought Maeve was a witch you were nearer the mark than you realised.”
“But I thought you said...” Zoe interrupted.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” Finn reminded her. “She’s actually much more powerful than a witch. She’s a spellworker.”
“A what?”
“It’s a form of sorcery.”
Zoe couldn’t hold back a quick, humourless laugh. “Sorcery! Seriously?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, that’s why I asked you to keep an open mind.”
“O-kay.”
“When you took the doll from the tree and cut its bindings you broke a spell. A spell that was vitally important to Maeve.”
Zoe shook her head as if to dismiss his words. “I don’t get it. Why are you telling me this?”
“I want you to know what Maeve can do and why you’re in danger.”
“Is this about me leaving Glastonbury?”
“Partly, yes. I know you’ve got your work, but I thought about it on the drive back from Lyme, and you could go somewhere else connected with King Arthur. Like Tintagel or Caerleon.”