by Alys West
“I didn’t.”
“Do you want to see him again? Because maybe you just need to take it slow, find out more about what he believes. You said you told him about your dreams and he was cool with it. That’s got to be a good thing.”
“I don’t know,” Zoe murmured, tears choking her throat. “Right now I just want to come home.”
There was an audible sigh before Anna said, “Why don’t you sleep on it, sweetie? See how you feel in the morning?”
Zoe brushed a tear from her cheek. She felt utterly exhausted, all those disturbed nights catching up on her. “I’ll probably have to. I’m waiting for the bus back to Glastonbury now. Then I have to get my things.” Her stomach clenched at the thought of going back to Anam Cara. “And I don’t know if there’ll be a bus to Bristol in time to catch the last coach.”
“It’s great that King Arthur’s going well and it’d be a shame to rush home just because of this guy. I know Glastonbury can be a bit overwhelming but don’t give up on it. You might feel completely differently in the morning.”
Too tired to argue, Zoe changed the subject, asking Anna about her wedding plans. As they chatted the bus for Bridgewater pulled in. The teenage girls got on and with their departure the bus station seemed very empty.
When Zoe rang off, she saw she’d got a text from Finn. “I’m on my way to Anam Cara to get your things. I’ll drop them off at the hostel”
She felt a brief flash of anger that he’d assumed she couldn’t do it herself. It was immediately extinguished by relief. He was actually doing her a huge favour. Regardless of the fact that she no longer knew if anything he’d told her was true, she still didn’t want to face Maeve.
Then she shook her head. If she’d needed any more proof that he believed everything he’d told her then here it was. He obviously thought he had to do this to protect her from whatever Maeve - the supposedly evil sorceress - had planned for her.
But that was insane. Okay, Maeve dabbled in witchcraft. That was the only way to explain the doll on the tree, the stone table, the leaves above the gate. But that was all. There were plenty of people in Glastonbury who did stuff like that.
But what about the Green Man? How did he disappear from the tree after the storm? And everyone getting ill after they had healing with Maeve? How did she explain that? Or the weird way Maeve had of getting people to agree with her?
She paced restlessly around the bus shelter. There wasn’t any sensible explanation. She checked her watch. The bus should have arrived by now. Not that she was in a rush anymore. She was stuck until Finn dropped her stuff at the hostel.
And as the hope of going home disappeared, she knew why she’d craved it so desperately. What if again tonight she dreamt something that showed his life was in danger? How the hell would she cope with that? She couldn’t have a freak out like last night in a dormitory with twenty strangers.
But it was more than that. It was Finn. How he’d reacted when she’d told him. That he’d understood. For the first time she’d found someone who accepted her dreams, who actually thought them valuable and important. She’d believed for so long that something was wrong with her brain. For a few wonderful hours Finn had made her feel that there wasn’t.
Chapter 24
His feet pounded on the steps, his legs flexing and straightening as he powered upwards. His mind focused solely on movement, he tried to leave his thoughts in the shadows at the base of the Tor.
Breathing heavily, he reached the summit. He looked around, remembering last night. His hand tightened around his staff. His defence. Now he had it things were different. Tonight, he wanted to get Maeve out of Anam Cara - for long enough for Winston to pick up Zoe’s things - and he was prepared to do whatever it took to draw attention to his presence here.
Propping his staff against the tower, he took the binoculars from his rucksack and surveyed Anam Cara and its garden. A light shone through the open curtains in the room next to Zoe’s but he couldn’t see any movement within. There were lights in the ground floor but the rooms he now knew to be Maeve’s were in darkness.
His foot tapped out a rapid beat, his fingers drummed against the binoculars. He took them from his eyes and paced across the concrete surrounding the tower. Behind the town, the last rays of the sun sent fingers of orange light across the sky. The Mendip and Quantock hills had been absorbed by the night. Dusk stole the light from the Levels. Above his head, a three quarter moon shone. A reminder of Zoe’s picture, a portent of his future.
Zoe. He didn’t want to think about Zoe.
Instead he thought about Maeve, about what it would take to provoke her to leave. Of course, it was risky to offer himself as bait. He could live with that. It was better than what Maeve had planned for him.
Walking back to his vantage point, he looked again at Anam Cara. Nothing had changed. He swept the binoculars away and focused on the lights of the town on his right. She was down there, maybe at the hostel. Probably cursing him, doubting every word he’d said to her. He should have bloody known that she wouldn’t believe the truth when she heard it.
He’d held it together until the door had shut behind her. Only then had his head dropped into his hands. When anger swiftly followed, his fist crashed onto the table. Her wine glass fell, smashing on the paving stones beneath. He’d sworn loudly and comprehensively. The couple at the nearest table stared at him, eyebrows raised. Standing, he picked up his staff. He intended to leave the rose – like him it had failed to make her understand – but at the last moment, he’d stuck it in his pocket and headed for the exit at the rear of the courtyard. Minutes later it hit him that she might head back to Anam Cara and he sent her a text. There’d been no reply. He hadn’t expected one.
From below, he heard a powerful engine snarl. Striding across the flat top of the Tor, he looked over the steep side – close to where he’d thrown himself over the edge last night - focusing the binoculars on the road below. The single light of a motorbike flashed behind the hedges, the engine throttled back and stopped. Got to be Winston.
Ten minutes later, his friend appeared at the top of the steps. “Bugger me!” Winston puffed, leaning heavily on his staff, his Scottish accent smoothing the edges from the words.
“You want to cut down on the deep fried Mars bars.” Finn stuck out his hand and hauled his friend up the last steps.
Winston’s hair was as black as his leathers. He wore it in a ponytail, tied up with a leather thong. In his late thirties, half a head shorter than Finn, he was thinner with a wiry strength. His face was angular with tawny skin, dark brown eyes and a wicked grin.
Punching Finn on the shoulder, Winston said, “Too many hours behind the desk, that’s what the problem is. Just wait, I’ll be fit as a fiddle when I’m back in the field.” An archaeologist at Glasgow University, specialising in the Neolithic period, Winston had directed digs all over Scotland.
“Yeah, right! All you do is stand there and tell the hot girl students what to do.”
“That’s how they learn.” Winston grinned. “And in the interests of academic balance I should point out that they’re not all girls. We have male students too.”
“Surprised you’ve noticed!”
“Less of the cheek, McCloud! Five hours I’ve spent on the bike riding to your rescue. You said there’d be beer and curry when I got here and then you drag me up Glastonbury bloody Tor.”
“Change of plan,” Finn said. “There’s beer in the fridge back at the cottage. But right now I need your help to get Zoe’s things out of Anam Cara.”
“Zoe’s the seer?”
“Right.”
“Why can’t she pick up her own gear?”
“Because Zoe took the poppet from the tree and having no clue what she’d done she lied to Maeve about it...”
“Brave,” Winston interjected.
“Yeah, she is that. Though she had no idea who she was dealing with...” Breaking off, Finn stared away into the night, his jaw tight.
&nb
sp; “What happened to the poppet? Did Zoe give it to you? It could tell us how Maeve was strong enough to hold the spell for so long. Because even for a spellworker it was a powerful piece of magic.”
Finn shook his head. “Zoe threw the poppet in the river. I got her to draw it for me though. I’ll show it you when we get back to the cottage.”
“That’s a shame. It would have told me a lot more if I could have examined it. But I suppose it’s better than nothing,” Winston said. “Zoe can answer any questions I’ve got when I’ve seen the drawing.”
Finn scowled. To give himself time to think, he reached his hand out and directed energy to his staff. It leapt the few feet from where it leaned against the wall of the tower and slapped into his palm. As his hand closed around it, he knew he wasn’t ready to admit that Zoe wouldn’t answer any questions. That she probably would never speak to him again.
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” Winston frowned. “Some other reason Zoe can’t go back to Anam Cara?”
Finn took a deep breath. If he got the explanations over with he could stop talking about her. “Last night Maeve found Zoe’s portfolio and in it were the drawings from Zoe’s dreams. The ones of me. At the very least, Maeve suspects we’re involved. At the worst, she’s guessed Zoe’s a seer.”
Winston whistled. “And the witch’d want that! Though not as much as she wants you. Although I suppose she might decide the seer’s the easier target. She could take her and then come back for you.”
Hearing Winston put his worst fears into words, Finn’s hand tightened around his staff until his knuckles went white. It took a huge effort to keep his voice calm as he said, “And that’s why Zoe’s not going back to Anam Cara.”
“Aye, I get that.” Winston nodded. Then he added casually, “Just so I know, are you?”
“What?”
Winston raised an eyebrow. “Involved?” he said, making the word heavy with innuendo.
“No!”
Winston shrugged. “Only asking.”
“Well, don’t.”
Winston stared at his friend’s face. Then he hefted his staff and said briskly, “Alright! What’s the plan?”
“I need to get Maeve out of Anam Cara long enough for you to get in, pick up Zoe’s things – I’ll show you which is her room – and get out. I’m going to have to be the bait. I’m the one Maeve wants.”
“And before we do this you’ve checked Maeve’s at home?”
“I’ve been watching the house. I’ve not seen her leave.”
“We need more than that. You got the number?”
“We can’t ring her!”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll do it. She might recognise your voice.” Winston held his hand out. “You got the number?”
Convinced it was a bad idea, Finn scrolled slowly through the previously called numbers on his phone until he found it. He’d called it half a dozen times in October. He pressed the screen and handed the mobile to his friend.
“It’s a good job I’m here,” Winston said, putting the phone to his ear. “You’re a bloody amateur.”
“Taking out two vamps does not make you an expert,” Finn said.
“Two vamps and a demon. You missed that one. Excellent fight. I...” Winston broke off and his voice deepened until he sounded like a young Sean Connery. “Good evening. May I speak to Maeve?”
Finn rolled his eyes. Winston had used his voice to reduce many women to putty but he was damned sure he was wasting it on Maeve.
There was a pause and then Winston said, “Oh, right. And who might I have the pleasure of talking to?”
Finn thought he heard a giggle down the line. Definitely not Maeve then.
“No, thanks,” Winston said. “That’s kind of you but I need to speak to her myself. Do you know what time she’ll be back?” He nodded. “Thanks a lot, Helena. Nice to talk to you. I’ll ring again later.”
Winston handed the phone back. “Time to go.”
“She’s not there,” Finn said, feeling like a total idiot. What the hell had Maeve been up to while he’d wasted his time watching a house she wasn’t even in? Winston was right. He was a bloody amateur.
“Apparently Maeve’s out doing whatever spellworkers do in Glastonbury on a Wednesday night. Her Aussie friend didn’t know what time she’d be back so we’d better get a move on.”
“I’m going.” Finn slung his rucksack on his back and shoved the binoculars at Winston. “You’ll keep watch.”
“Did the witch eat your brain?” Winston said. “I’m going in. She’s never met me.”
“But Cat said you came to...” Finn trailed off. He had to find words to thank Winston for coming to Glastonbury to look for him but it wouldn’t be easy and this definitely wasn’t the time.
“I did. But I never got past the gate. From the outside there was no sign of you.”
Finn hesitated. It was the sensible option to let Winston go in. Only it didn’t feel right. He’d got Zoe into this. He didn’t like relying on Winston to get out her of it.
“Of course, if you want to play the hero for Zoe,” Winston added, a grin spreading over his face.
“Leave it!” Finn said. He should explain that Zoe had walked away - if he didn’t Winston would keep this up all night - but he couldn’t find the words.
“Is that a no?”
In the hope of shutting Winston up so they could get on with this, Finn said, “If you want to go in there then by my guest.”
“Excellent!”
“Okay. Let’s move.” Finn started towards the steps.
“Just one thing,” Winston said. “If I’m going to risk my life to pick up this girl’s luggage I’d like to know why I’m doing it.”
Finn glared. “I told you.”
“No, you told me what Maeve thinks. Not why getting Zoe’s bags is so bloody important that you’d go back to that place and risk another face-off with the witch.”
Finn’s gaze dropped. “I ...I got Zoe into this. Or at least, she was in it before I met her but I dragged her in deeper.”
“I see.” Winston nodded. “Sounds like she’s not the only one who’s in deep.”
It took Finn a second to catch his friend’s meaning. Then his eyes narrowed. “Fuck off!”
“If you insist.” Winston shrugged, took a step back. “But I’ve only just got here.”
Finn shook his head. “Remind me why I asked you to come?”
“For my wit and wisdom. And because you wanted to let your mate in on the action!”
Finn’s answering grin was brief. Zoe’s drawing of the stone circle was bright in his mind. He could die on Friday, knowing that made it difficult to match Winston’s enthusiasm. Instead, he focused on the job at hand. “Okay. We’re going to take my car round to Anam Cara in case we need to make a quick exit.” He’d left the hire car in Lyme and returned in his elderly, rather battered 4 x 4. Built like a tank with a diesel engine that did 0-60 in about five minutes he knew it wasn’t designed to be a getaway vehicle but he felt safe in it.
“The bike’d be quicker,” Winston said.
“Yes but you’re the one going in. And if Maeve comes back and starts throwing light globes the car’ll give better protection. Trust me. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those.” Finn started down the steps as he spoke. “Anyway, we’ll have Zoe’s stuff to carry when you come out.”
“I hope she packed light,” Winston said, following him.
“As well as her bag, there’s a portfolio. That’s the most important thing. The drawings, the ones of me, are in there.”
“I’ve never met a seer who drew her visions. That should make interpretation a whole lot easier. Seers normally talk in such generalisations that it’s impossible to figure out what they’re telling you. But having your Zoe around’s going to be a huge help. Give us a real advantage.”
Finn swung round, pointed the tip of his staff at his friend. “No way! We’re keeping her out of this. It’s too dange
rous.”
For a split second, Winston looked startled. Then he dropped one hand on Finn’s shoulder and pushed past him. “Don’t you think that should be up to her? I know you’re out of practice with women so I’m going to give you some advice. They really hate it when you make decisions for them.”
Scowling at his friend’s back, Finn opened his mouth to tell him where to get off. Then he shut it again. What was the point? She’d already made her decision. She didn’t believe him. That was the end of it.
He started running down the steps. “Come on!” he shouted as he barged past Winston. “I’ve seen arthritic grannies move faster than you!”
He heard a muttered curse, followed by the heavy thud of Winston’s footsteps. Finn grinned fleetingly and upped the pace.
* * *
The hill fort was an ancient place, believed by some to be the site of Camelot. In daylight it held its mysteries close. In the night, it was an enigmatic rise in the landscape, a place that few dared visit.
A light globe illuminated the steep hedge lined path. Over her shoulder Maeve carried a black velvet bag. The lights of the village disappeared as she climbed. Darkness beckoned to her.
Coming to a gate, she passed through it and then turned. She needed to be sure she would be undisturbed. She raised her hand, said the words to create a shield that blocked the way.
The path opened out into a wide oval expanse, once a settlement of the ancient Britons. Its defences were grassy banks, encircling the hill. They kept enemies out and shielded the interior from prying eyes. That’s why Maeve came. When she needed the additional power from casting out of doors, she could be certain she’d be alone here.
At the centre Maeve stopped. From her bag she took out her robe, put it on. Then moving a little to the north she paced out her circle. Salt marked the circumference. Candles were placed at north, south, east and west. Picking up her athame she pointed it at each candle in turn and they flamed into light. She placed the kindling she’d brought with her in the centre of the circle. Next to it she laid the poppet and her grimoire.
She cast the circle and called the fire into being. As the flames took hold, she opened the grimoire. Reading the words by the light of the globe above her head, she murmured the words to start the ritual, “Ishtar, Cerridwen, Innana, Shakti, Yoruba, Danu, Kali and Aine. I call on you to protect, empower and inspire my magic.”