Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Amy Rae Durreson

  I shrugged, aware she couldn’t see it. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do.” Her voice lightened again. “So, tell me about Growly Dom Guy. Is he single? Does he look like he sounds?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Can you hear yourself?”

  “Hah. Thought so. Hit that before you come home.”

  “Kasia!”

  “What?” She was laughing. “Hey, get a picture, yeah, so I can send it to Suleikha.”

  “For two happily married women, you two have an unhealthy interest in my love life.”

  “We’re just concerned for our widdle bruvver.” She was laughing openly now.

  “Fuck you. And shut up. He’s coming back.”

  “Better move over and let him take the driving seat, then.” Her tone was dripping innuendo.

  “Shut up,” I hissed, but I reluctantly shifted myself over to the passenger side. I was shaky, the adrenaline rush that comes with panic fading away.

  “Shit,” Kasia said. “Felix is heading this way with his concerned face on. Are you up to talking to him?”

  Was I? I didn’t think so. I was certain he would never have sent me up here if he had known, but I didn’t think I could cope with his worry and apologies either. I was stretched too thin. “Can you put him off?”

  “Consider it done, but I am telling him.”

  “Sure.” I hung up as Niall Forster climbed into the driver’s seat. I hadn’t realised just how tall and broad-shouldered he was until I saw him cramped into the front seat of my little car.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Burn Farm Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Rick and Fiona’s?” He started the car. “I know it.”

  “Look, you really don’t have to put yourself out like this. Your van—”

  “Can walk up for it later. It’s not far.”

  “Then I’m sure I could drive—”

  “Keep moaning like that and I’ll think you’re ungrateful.”

  I was about to protest but narrowed my eyes instead. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

  “I don’t make jokes.”

  He was so deadpan I almost believed him. Then I looked at him and caught the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  Damn. He probably was a decent human being after all. I closed my eyes, then opened them rapidly as the still-hovering flashback crept closer. Taking a deep breath, I said, “Rob filled me in on your story. I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. It was unconscionable.”

  His hands tightened on the wheel, but all he said was, “You weren’t to know.”

  “That’s irrelevant. Whatever I intended, the fact I did harm is more important. I’m incredibly sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make amends—”

  “Is that what you teach your students—that good intentions don’t matter?”

  “Yes, actually, although not in so many words.”

  He was quiet for a moment, but then he asked, “Seriously?”

  “I work with a lot of children with anger-management issues. They often lash out. We try to get them to understand that their actions have consequences, no matter how much they feel their rage is justified.”

  “And is it justified?”

  “Having the rage, yes, but they’re rarely lashing out at the actual cause. Some things are out of our reach.”

  He grunted again, and we continued down the road in silence. I risked a glance out the window again and sighed in relief. We had come far enough that the view no longer perfectly matched the one in my nightmares.

  “You’re seriously thinking about bringing kids up here?”

  I shrugged. “That’s why I’m here—to decide if it’s feasible.”

  “It’s not. You’ve seen the place.”

  “That’s my gut instinct, but I can’t trust that. Obviously, I’m prejudiced against the place for, um, personal reasons. I need to make sure I’ve made a fair case, looked at all the factors and possibilities. We’re massively oversubscribed. There’s a real need for a second campus. It’s just whether here is the right place.”

  He muttered something I couldn’t quite hear, though it could have been, “No helping some people.”

  He turned into the next side road, bumping along a long drive. Fields full of sheep opened out on either side as we followed a slight slope down towards the buildings. The drive split into two tracks at the end, one marked Farm, the other Guesthouse, and a narrower, steeper trail led down the hillside towards the burn. There were two other cars parked in the guesthouse car park—a big flashy four-by-four and a little two-seater convertible. He parked in the third space and tossed me my keys. “There you go.”

  “Again, I’m really grateful….”

  But he was already walking away, heading between the farm buildings towards the path downhill. I sighed and walked to the porch with its overflowing hanging baskets and planters.

  I barely registered the warm welcome I received. It took a few minutes to sign the register and drag my cases inside. Then I finally closed the door to the cosy little room behind me, toed off my shoes, and dropped face-first onto the bed.

  Within minutes I was asleep.

  Chapter Six

  WHEN I next opened my eyes, it was dark. I sat up, blinking at the red numbers on the bedside clock—2:14 a.m. It was the only light in the room.

  I had never seen darkness like this, and an entirely new type of fear made my gut clench.

  Then my eyes adjusted, and I realised a thin pale light fell through the open window.

  Moonlight.

  Relieved, I settled back against the pillows, feeling better than I had all day. Weirdly enough, it helped to be unsettled by something as normal as fear of the dark, and I began to slide back into sleep.

  Outside, something chimed slightly. I couldn’t place the sound, but then I heard the distinctive sound of a horse’s hooves on cobbles. Had the first sound been the jingle of tack?

  As I faded back into sleep, I listened to the sound of riders passing quietly in the night.

  It was not until morning that it struck me as strange that they were there at all.

  I WOKE again to sunshine. The clock told me it was just gone seven. I showered and headed down for breakfast, feeling like myself again.

  I was welcomed into the little dining room by Fiona, the landlady, who met my apologies for my zombielike state the night before with cheerful sympathy and talked me into a full English breakfast.

  When the other guests—a retired couple on a second honeymoon and a jolly family of Americans—came down, I was still lingering over my tea. The American father, Lyall, was on a quest to track down his Elliot ancestors. His wife, Michelle, was keen on history and folk music but more excited about the second half of their trip, when they would be off to the Edinburgh festival. Their sons were an exercise in contrasts—nine-year-old Doug was a mountain-bike enthusiast having the time of his life, whereas Mac, the older one, didn’t look up from his Kindle until I mentioned visiting Hermitage Castle the day before.

  “That one was cool,” he said, then returned to his book.

  They were gratifyingly interested in my work and what I was doing at Vainguard, and young Mac peeped over the top of his Kindle a couple of times when I mentioned the age of the building.

  “We’ve driven past the place a few times,” Lyall said, sounding excited, “but I thought it was closed to the public. I don’t suppose…?”

  “Dad,” Doug groaned, rolling his eyes, but Mac looked hopeful.

  “Maybe,” I said. “It’s in pretty bad shape, so let me have a second look to be sure it’s safe. It’s very creepy, I’m afraid—not exactly a stately home.”

  “Cool,” Mac said again.

  I DECIDED to walk across to Vainguard—it was only half a mile away, and there was a footpath down the side of the burn. I was halfway along when my phone suddenly began to dance in my pocket. I pulled it out and watched a whole series of text messages arrive.

  Righ
t. There must have been no signal at the farm. With a sigh, I sat down on a moss-covered wall and scrolled through them quickly—Kasia, checking I was okay, and Felix, asking me to call.

  I texted Kasia quickly, then phoned Felix.

  He picked up immediately. “Leon. My dear boy, I’m so sorry. Words cannot express—”

  “I’m fine,” I said, which was mostly true now. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “You must come back, or at least have family with you—perhaps Suleikha could be persuaded to take a few days off, or the bishop to spare Peter.”

  I doubted it. Suleikha and her wife ran a cafe in Brighton, and it was the middle of their high season; Peter, Felix’s biological son, did something arcane and administratively vital in a Midlands diocese. “I’m fine. Look, I’ve already made contact with people up here—the lawyers and the neighbours know me. It’s illogical to send someone else.”

  “I still can’t believe it. Of all the terrible coincidences….”

  “It’s just bad luck. I’ll be fine away from that stretch of road. It’s not even the main route. Anyway, about the house.”

  “Is it viable?” Hope filled his voice.

  The answer should have been no, but I couldn’t spoil that hope, not when he was already feeling guilty over sending me here.

  “Too early to say. It would take a lot of work, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a definite no-go. There’s so much clutter inside, and we’re responsible for it.”

  “Are you all right to stay a little longer and tackle it? You mustn’t feel obliged, my boy.”

  “I’m fine. I’m heading back that way now, so I’ll send you photos later today. I’m waiting to hear from the lawyers about other paperwork, but are you happy for me to get the electricity and phone line transferred to us? That way I can contact you without coming back to the guesthouse—which is rather nice, by the way. You and Valerie should come and stay if we do go for this.”

  I let him go, not without having to fend off more apologies, and stayed on my damp bit of wall for a while, watching the stream coil and rush around its rocks, willing it to take all my worries with it.

  Once I was calm again, I started back along the path, crossed the main road, and followed the track through the woods that separated Vainguard on the top road from the rest of the village where it clustered around the bridge and old railway line. It was very quiet in amongst the firs, the air heavy with the scent of pine and the heat lingering. The burn ran at the bottom of the steep bank, broad and shallow, and thin rivulets came streaming down the slope on my other side to cut under the path I was following and splash down into the burn in tiny, gleaming waterfalls.

  Once again, the hairs rose on the back of my neck.

  Which was ridiculous. I was a good couple of miles from the crash site and had absolutely no reason to panic here in the woods.

  The wind blew across the tree tops, making the branches sigh and lift, and I suddenly realised why the woods felt so eerie. There was no noise at ground level to match the noise above, and that disparity was triggering my sense of danger. I must be down in a dip or behind some obstacle which blocked the wind from the lower branches.

  Laughing at myself, I set out again. It was weird how these things could still affect us. We remained animals under our skin after all.

  Except working out the solution hadn’t done anything to decrease the sense that something terrible was behind me, and now I’d thought of animals, I wondered why I couldn’t hear any of them in the undergrowth. Where were the birds, the mice and rabbits, the midges that usually buzzed in the shade?

  Could there be a real predator here? I had a vague idea that there were wildcats somewhere in Scotland, but surely not this far south. I quickened my stride, feeling foolish.

  As soon as I was out of the trees, the sense of being watched faded. I took a deep breath and turned to look behind me.

  There was nothing there.

  Shaking my head, I made my way up across the sloping meadow towards Vainguard. In the sunshine, it looked more romantic than ominous.

  Once I arrived, I started by making a to-do list. I’d need a room to base myself in as well. The bungalow would have been logical, but the stale and cluttered state of it made my heart sink. Instead, I picked one of the downstairs rooms in the main house, dumped my bags, and took the keys and my torch in search of a mains switch.

  I found it in the cupboard under the stairs, along with the fuse box and various metres, and switched everything back on. Rather nervously, given how unsure I was how long it had been since anyone had used the power in Vainguard, I flicked a light switch on with my fingertip.

  The bulb above came on with no problem, illuminating the gloomy hallway.

  Back in my chosen room, I risked plugging in my phone and tablet next. I hadn’t charged either overnight, and I was going to need them today. I pulled the dust cloth off a table and heaved my new desk over to the window, where I had a view down towards the burn and the steep rise of the hill on the Scottish side. Then I ventured into the bungalow. One glance told me I hadn’t overestimated the job.

  Okay, then. First things first—I needed black sacks and lots of them.

  But poking through every cupboard I dared open was a failure. All I could find was a roll of flimsy swing-bin liners that would split under the weight of most rubbish.

  I gave up, locked Vainguard and the bungalow behind me, and started back towards the guesthouse to get my car. I didn’t want to walk back along the path, not after my earlier fright, but I would need to drive in search of the nearest place that sold plentiful cleaning supplies. I’d spotted a corner shop in the village yesterday, but I was hoping someone would be around at the guesthouse to point me towards the nearest big supermarket.

  As I passed the lodge, a rough voice called, “Back again?”

  I jumped and turned to face Niall Forster, who was leaning against the side of his van. I hadn’t had a chance to look at it yesterday, but now I read the sign on the side: N K Forster: Farrier and Blacksmith.

  That explained the shoulders, then.

  Hurriedly, I said, “Turning up like a bad penny. You got your van back okay, then?”

  “Aye. Wasn’t sure if I’d see you here.”

  “I’m fine.” Just remembering what a fool I’d made of myself yesterday made me snappy, but I took a breath and reminded myself he had done nothing to deserve my bad temper. “I don’t suppose you know where the nearest supermarket is?”

  “Langholm. Twenty minutes’ drive, unless you get stuck behind a tractor. Where’s your car?”

  “Back at the farm. I thought I’d walk this morning, but I find myself desperately short of bin bags.”

  “I’m sure.” He frowned at me for a moment, then said, “Come on in, then. I’ve got enough to tide you over.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Unless you want to leave ten minutes after you got here. Wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got a job to do here.”

  “I hope you’re getting bloody good overtime pay, then.”

  I blinked at him, startled.

  He stopped and stared at me before blowing through his teeth. “You’re not getting paid for this shit?”

  “My expenses are covered, obviously. It’s a charity. We’re not exactly rolling in funds.”

  “One born every minute, isn’t there? Inside, if you’re coming.”

  I looked for a gate, then caught the derisive amusement in his eye. Well, fuck him, then. I ran the school’s athletics club every summer and wasn’t about to be mocked by some muscle-bound blacksmith with a superiority complex. I took a few steps back, then ran at the low wall, vaulting it with a press of my hands against sun-warmed stone.

  He laughed, a low, rolling sound of appreciation, and I made a show of straightening my shirt.

  “Won’t keep the crease ironed in your trousers if you keep that up.”

  I was wearing jeans—new ones, admi
ttedly, but not that new. “One must sacrifice some style when out amongst the yokels.”

  “Such a hardship being out here, is it? Hardly the suburbs of wherever it is you come from?”

  “The school’s in a village actually, just south of Midhurst in the South Downs.” I looked down my nose. “Nice respectable chalk hills rather than this soggy bit of scruff you’ve got around here.”

  If I’d been trying to annoy him, it failed. That low laugh rumbled out of him again, and I realised belatedly that I hadn’t been trying to argue. I’d been flirting.

  No, no, no, Leon. Bad idea.

  “In here,” he said and led me towards the side of the lodge, through a cluttered porch, and into the house.

  Inside was a pleasant sitting room with a stone-flagged floor and wide fireplace. Light came in through patio doors, and other doors led out to a kitchen and what looked like a workshop. There was a sofa, but it was piled high with books and magazines. A mug and a pint glass sat on a table by the armchair closest to the fire. The other had a pile of what looked like unsorted laundry dumped on it.

  I tried not to make my spying too obvious as I followed him to the kitchen, but this puzzled me. Yesterday, Rob Ademola had been pretty clear when he implied Forster was living here with someone, but the state of the room suggested otherwise.

  The kitchen was cluttered—a pile of plates and cutlery by the sink, a stack of empty ready-meal containers, and a few more mugs.

  A handful of pictures were stuck to the fridge, alongside a sketch of Vainguard drawn by a childish hand. As Forster banged around in the cupboard under the sink, I drifted over.

  The first one that struck me was a family snapshot—Forster, a girl of about ten with the same dark hair and pale eyes, and another man, darker-skinned and slighter. They were all grinning happily at the camera, the kid making the V-sign behind her dad’s head.

  “Your nose ever get stuck in someone else’s business while you’re poking it there?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s a nice picture. She looks happy.”