Beltane

by Thea Hartsong

  Chapter 14. City lights

  The nightmare about the eye visited me again that night. I dreamed that I was in a padded cell. The floor, walls, ceiling, and door were all the same neutral off-white color. There was nothing to break the monotony except a solitary spyhole set into the middle of the door. When I tried to walk across the room to look through the hole it was like wading through maple syrup. I felt as if my limbs were tied to lead weights. Finally as I reached the door and pressed my face against it I was able to peer out through a small circle of thick glass. It was then that I saw it; that terrible staring eye, on the other side of the window, watching me, controlling me, dominating me.

  When I got up the next morning, after spending most of the night afraid to go back to sleep it was to some good news. Rebekah had called the Lodge, and told them she was taking some leave. She wanted us to take a short break together to give us a few days of quality time. She squared it with the college, and after breakfast we jumped onto a train heading towards London.

  We spent most of the journey going through the guide book to pick out a list of ‘must sees’. Rebekah voted for the crown jewels at the Tower of London, a boat trip up the Thames to Kew Gardens, and a visit to Madame Tussaud’s. I chose a tour round Shakespeare’s Globe, the British Library obviously, and then Camden Town’s street market for some much needed retail therapy.

  We tossed a coin, and the crown jewels won as our first stop. It was fun hopping on and off buses and tube trains on the way there. I got a serious case of the giggles at Charing Cross underground where a recorded voice kept on warning us to ‘mind the gap’ while we were waiting for the doors to close. Even so, I couldn’t stop my mind from nagging me about some of the things Shanty had said. Why didn’t I have a proper picture of my mother? I remember dad showing me a faded snapshot he kept in his wallet once. Where was that now? If I could just get hold of it I could prove she was wrong.

  Then there was the doubt in my mind about what I thought I’d seen in the grove, and later in the pool. Shanty didn’t know anything about that. I hadn’t told her. I’d had a whatever you want to call it, vision? hallucination? who knows? In it I’d seen a beautiful woman leading a bizarre hunt made up of wild animals. A woman who looked just like the ‘mistress of the wild hunt’ mentioned in myths about Frijja.

  What had made Shanty pull that name out of her bag of tricks, when there were so many other legends, so many other Goddesses she could have chosen? And it was true; my father was fascinated by stories of the Huldra. One of his most precious possessions was a nineteenth century watercolor miniature painting of a beautiful woman with long golden hair, tastefully arranged to hide the fact that she was stark naked, kneeling beside a woodland stream. It was sitting on Rebekah’s desk back at Rose Cottage, right next to her computer. I used to tease dad by pretending I thought it was a picture of a mermaid.

  And there was one other thing that was bugging me. I remembered now something that dad told me shortly before he died. He told me that he had something important to give me. Something he was going to give me on my birthday; something that had to wait until I was sixteen years old.

  After we’d done the Tower of London, taking about a million pictures each, we took a boat upriver to Westminster, walked past Big Ben, more pictures, cut through St James’ Park past the front of Buckingham Palace, a gazillion pictures, crossed Green Park and then stuffed ourselves on some very welcome burgers and fries at the Hard Rock Café.

  Rebekah had booked us into one of those boutique hotels near the center which had a tiny spa, so we got into a couple of big fluffy dressing gowns, jumped into the sauna, and tried to sweat off the burger calories before climbing into our beds. I was so exhausted I don’t think I had the energy to dream, anyway we both went out like lights, and slept in so late we almost missed breakfast.

  Madame Tussaud’s was to be our first port of call, followed by a visit to the British Library in the afternoon. Although I enjoyed looking the waxworks in the morning, though it was slightly creepy how real they looked, the genuine thrill for me was the chance to get up close and personal with some of the rarest books in the world after lunch.

  The British Library is huge. There are over 65 kilometers of shelves and they have around 150 million items in the collection, I know because I read it in the guide book.

  What I wanted to see most was the only copy of Thomas Mallory’s Morte D’ Arthur, a manuscript from the middle ages about the knights of the round table and an original Anglo-Saxon version of Beowulf. Even though I was still on my magic-free book diet this was a once in a lifetime chance to see them for real. I’m afraid I have to admit I also had a bit of a secret mission.

  Like I said, the library has an amazing collection, and these days a lot of it is digitized. I wanted to do some research of my own. I’d made up my mind to take a look at any references connected to legends of the Huldra, or the Goddess Frijja.

  I’m not saying I actually believed anything Shanty had told me, not then anyway. I just wanted to do some digging of my own. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to get any time alone in the library, and that Rebekah was unlikely to approve of me investigating any of this stuff if I told her what I was thinking about doing. So I came up with a fiendishly complicated plan to try to make her wait in the café while I went to the reading room that I wasn’t at all convinced would work.

  As it turned out I didn’t have to use it because while we were in the library galleries she got a call on her cellphone. She had to go over to Gower Street, a couple of blocks away. The British Psychiatric Society had called saying that they needed her to come to re-register with them in person. She was really annoyed, she was sure she was already registered, but they were adamant. She asked if I minded being left on my own for half an hour or so. Hardly able to believe my luck I told her it was fine, and the second she was out of sight I sprinted towards the library reading room.

  There was just one problem I hadn’t anticipated. They wouldn’t let me in. You had to have some stupid special readers’ card that they only issue to scholars and academics if you apply months in advance in writing.

  Frustrated and disappointed I made my way slowly back towards the main galleries. As I passed an alcove in the corridor a hand shot out and gripped my arm.

  “Shanty!” I gasped, as I realized who had hold of me.

  She put a finger to her lips pointed urgently towards the Ladies restroom a few yards away. Releasing my arm she walked swiftly over to the door, , opened it and disappeared inside trailing a scent of patchouli oil behind her.

  I looked around. Should I follow her, or get the heck out of Dodge? I made up my mind and began to walk briskly in the opposite direction, towards the way out. Before I got to the end of the corridor I stopped dead, let out a massive sigh, then turned around and followed her into the restrooms.

  When I got inside she was standing next to the mirror tugging at one of her dreadlocks anxiously.

  “Bless the mother,” she gasped, “we don’t have much time. As soon as your stepmother gets to Gower Street she’ll realize it was a hoax.”

  I gawped at her. “That was you on the phone?” She didn’t bother to reply. I wondered what Rebekah was going to think when she found out she’d been duped?

  “I had to speak to you Thea,” Shanty insisted, “I didn’t get a chance to finish what I had to say to you the other day.”

  I folded my arms and stood my ground solidly. “Alright,” I said, “tell me what you’ve come to say. I still don’t promise to believe in any of it, though I have to admit my life has been pretty weird since I turned sixteen. Fire away!”

  Shanty’s eyes gleamed with urgency. “You’re in terrible danger. I didn’t realize how much before; terrible danger.”

  “Why?” I asked, “what from?”

  “Beltane’s approaching. The Sisterhood are seeking to fulfill the prophecy. You know the one I mean?”

  “Mortal fae, blah,blah,blah?” />
  Shanty did her best to ignore my dismissive attitude. “If someone with the mark of the fae adds power to the ritual, then how much greater will that power be with the daughter of one of the immortals at its center?”

  I shrugged, “so what do you recommend I do about it, blast them all with a thunderbolt?”

  Shanty clutched my arm again tightly. “You must make sure you don’t fall into their hands.”

  “And how do I do that?” I said, pulling away from her.

  Shanty’s expression was strained. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her yellow cheesecloth blouse.

  “By joining a Wiccan circle on Beltane instead. By celebrating, honoring and waking Gaia, and letting Cybele sleep on.”

  There was an insistent buzzing noise which pulled my attention away from what Shanty was asking me to do. My cell phone was ringing. I pulled it out of my bag and looked at the display screen – Rebekah was calling me.

  Shanty shook her head, but I pressed the green button and answered.

  “Hi, what’s up?” I said into the handset.

  “Is everything alright TT?” Rebekah’s voice sounded tight.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Can you meet me outside the library in five minutes?”

  “Yeah, no probs. See you then,” I closed the phone cover and looked over at Shanty.

  “I’m not joining anybody for anything until I have a better idea of what’s going on,” I said evenly. “You’d better get moving Shanty. Rebekah’s on her way back.”

  “Already?”

  “Yep.”

  Shanty seemed torn between making sure Rebekah didn’t see her and staying to try to persuade me to go along with her suggestion. Concern about being spotted by the mama-bear won out. She slipped past me and out into the corridor. By the time I’d washed my face and followed her out she was gone.

  It was raining outside. Rebekah had decided not to bother with walking over to Gower Street after all. She said they could fax her something if they needed her signature. We hailed a black cab and twenty minutes later we were standing in the foyer of a West End theatre about to go in to watch a musical. I must admit I was just slightly surprised by Rebekah’s choice of show considering everything I’d been through, and the whole point of this city break. It was Wicked.