by Alys West
“Grumpy? Unreasonably irritable with harmless middle-aged ladies? Or just plain rude?”
Winston sat on the fallen megalith leaving room for Jenna to sit beside him. “I was going to say tense.”
“Well, get over it. You’ll scare the tourists if you do your druidy stuff now.”
“I’ll come back later,” he muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What was in the third letter?”
“Mum knew Rachel was a storm witch.” Jenna pushed back her hood so she didn’t have to turn her entire body to look at him. “It sounds like she was confused by the fact Rachel could handle air and water really easily but struggled with fire and earth. She must have talked to Grace about it because the letter says Grace suggested certain rituals to do with the weather. When they tried them, Rachel could do them without any trouble at all.”
“Do you want me to talk to Grace again? See if she remembers anything Nina said about this girl?”
“I guess it’s got to be worth a try.” Her hands twisted together as she spoke. Winston wasn’t the only one who felt jittery. She’d drunk too much coffee and, although it was keeping her awake, she felt taut as a fiddle string. “When Mum died, didn’t Grace suspect Rachel was involved? She must have known I didn’t know anything about her. Why didn’t she tell me?”
“I don’t know, Jenna. You’re going to have to ask her that.”
She sniffed, looked away. “I thought you’d say that.”
“Damn it, I’m becoming predictable.” His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Going to have to do something about that.”
She glanced at him. She’d thought they were past this kind of jokiness about everything. He gave her a fleeting smile which didn’t reach his eyes and then looked away, apparently intent on watching the progress of the middle-aged hippy around the stones. Sighing out a breath, Jenna unzipped her waterproof and slipped her hand into the inside pocket. “I copied the bits about the storm witch in all the letters. I thought you might see something I missed.”
“That’s very organised.” He took the folded pages she offered him, glanced at them. “When did you do this?”
She looked down at her hands. “This morning.”
“When you were busy working? And used Historic Scotland equipment to do it too. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss Henderson.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “Shut up. I’m too tired to be teased. I didn’t sleep well.”
He made a tiny movement towards her and then stopped. “You needed another dram last night, that’d have seen you right.”
“It was the first one that caused the trouble. Once I’d had that I couldn’t take the painkillers the doctor gave me and my arm really ached all night.”
“Mind if I read these?” He gestured with the photocopied pages.
“Go ahead.” Pulling her hood up, she stood and walked to the nearest megalith. Resting her back against it, she looked across to where she’d left him. He was in an odd mood today. Almost back to the annoying Dr Grant she’d first met. It was hard to believe he was the same man who’d held her while she cried last night.
Winston put the pages into the pocket of his waterproof and stood. Her gaze slid past him, following the people walking heads down, hoods up along the path to the nearby Barnhouse Village. He stopped directly in front of her.
“Interesting. Especially what Nina says about Rachel’s reaction to the story of Janet Forsyth. That’s the girl from Westray you told me about, right?”
“Yes. Mum must have told her the same story.”
“Didn’t you say Janet and her boyfriend left Orkney and never came back?”
“That’s what the story says but who knows? These islands have a pull. If you’ve Orkney in your blood you tend to come back here.”
“Like your friend Hal.” His tone was off, too loaded as if there was some kind of point he was trying to make. She couldn’t read anything from his face. He was looking down, his gaze fixed on the toe of his boot as he rolled a bit of gravel under his sole.
“Yes, Hal. But there’s plenty like him.”
“What about you? If Nina hadn’t died, would you have come back here?”
She’d have told him the truth if he’d asked last night, told him about trying to take care of her dad, keep the tearooms open and do her job in Edinburgh. Told him how she’d spent every weekend back here, given up her music, hardly seen Hal until the day in March when Nicky rang to say Dad hadn’t got out of bed for a week and she’d realised all she’d done was delay the inevitable. She’d handed in her resignation, packed her bags and come home. But today, with his mood mercurial, she said simply, “Probably not. It’s hard to build a career in heritage in Orkney.”
“Where were you working before you came home?”
“Holyrood Palace.”
He let out a low whistle. “You must be good.”
“I’m not sure about that.” She managed a half-smile. “I was a very lowly exhibitions assistant.”
“And you ran the tearooms for how long?”
“Four years full-time. When Dad started back at work, I got a part-time job at Skara Brae for a few months and then this position came up at Maeshowe and I got it.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, glanced away, cleared his throat. “I’ve got something to show you. If I’m right about what it is then it’s going to be a bit of a shock. I wanted to warn you—”
“Oh, great, thanks. I’m already having a crap day and you bring—” Her voice rose and she broke off because she knew tears would follow.
“This is the point where you call me an insensitive bastard. Just do it. It’ll make you feel better.”
What came out was half sob, half laugh. “You are an insensitive bastard.”
“Feel better?” He took his fancy iPhone from his pocket and swiped the screen.
“Not really.”
He put the mobile in her hands. It looked like Uncle Andrew’s house. At least, she thought it did. Raindrops fell, blurring the screen and she brushed them away. The place was destroyed. Half of the roof had been ripped off, exposing the skeleton of the rooms beneath. A car, upside down, its roof crushed, was rammed against the side wall as if it’d been picked up and thrown there. The massive plate-glass windows were shattered. Sticks of broken furniture littered the decking. She brushed more raindrops from the screen and drew her fingers across it to make the picture larger. In the foreground was a body, blood running down its face. She moved the picture around the screen, making it larger. There were two, no three, people lying prone on the grass.
Swallowing hard she gave the iPhone back to him. “Zoe drew this?”
“Aye. Is it your uncle’s?”
“Yes, it is. Do you think—” Then what he’d asked hit home and she looked up. “How do you know it’s Uncle Andrew’s? You’ve never been there.”
“I Googled him. After you told me Andrew and Nina had fallen out, I thought I’d see if it was relevant to her death. I read an article about the house which had pictures but I couldn’t be sure.”
“You were investigating my uncle? Without telling me?” Her feet propelled her across the grass towards the gate and her car.
“I didn’t find anything about Nina’s death.” He easily kept up with her, his stride matching hers. “Just a lot of stuff about his dodgy developments.”
“And you didn’t think that it was nothing to do with you?” Stopping, she faced him. “Even if they were dodgy, even if he was bribing half the Council, you had no right to start digging about to see what you could find.”
“Even when it affected Nina? You’ve got to have asked yourself why she was so against the Nethertown development. There’s something there, Jenna, something we haven’t got to the bottom of yet. And yes, it probably has nothing to do with Nina’s death and it probably is none of my business but until we find out what it is we can’t be sure.”
His words chimed with thoughts she’d pushed aside last night. It’d seemed the least im
portant thing compared with what Mum knew about Rachel. “Fuck you, Winston Grant.” She covered her face with her hands as she spoke. “You really are a bastard.”
“Guilty as charged. But I am on your side, Jenna. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
At what cost, she wanted to say. But she didn’t. She couldn’t trust him with that kind of honesty today. She cleared her throat. “In the last letter, Mum said Andrew had betrayed everything that was sacred to her.”
“That’s not in the pages you gave me.”
“I only gave you the bits about the storm witch.”
“Can I—”
“I guess. I’ll scan it, email it to you.”
“Any idea what she meant?”
“Not really. Magic was my first thought. That was sacred to her. But he never took any notice of her magic.”
“But he knew about it?”
“From what my grandma told me, you couldn’t grow up with her and not know. Andrew’s four years younger than Mum. By the time her powers were starting to show, he’d have been ten or eleven.”
“Do you think he was jealous? Magic can be hard on siblings.”
“If he was, he’d got over it by the time I was old enough to notice.”
“About the picture…?”
“My cousins live in that house. I might not think much of Andrew and Felicity’s not much better but I love the boys.”
“There’s nothing I can say, Jenna. It’s crap. All we can do is try to find her before it happens.”
“You think this is Rachel?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes, probably. I’ll tell you better when the shock wears off.”
He reached into the pocket of his waterproof, took out a silver hip flask. “Here.”
She unscrewed the cap, sniffed it, drew back as alcohol fumes assaulted her nostrils. “What is it?”
“Glenfiddich.”
“I’ve got to drive back to work.”
“A wee drop won’t take you over the limit. It’ll help with the shock.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s brandy.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “I need to get back.”
“Me too.”
“How accurate are Zoe’s visions?” she said, handing the flask back to him as they walked towards the gate. “I know you told me it was early days when we talked about this at The Noust but that was before… Well, before lots of things. I want it straight now.”
“So far she’s been spot on. Everything she’s dreamed has happened. Not always immediately but it has happened.”
“Can you change them? Does knowing what’s going to happen give you the chance to change the future?”
“Good question.” Winston was silent for a moment or two. “So far, it’s not worked like that. Without her visions, Finn would have arrived too late to do anything but die at the Nine Maidens and then Maeve would have killed Zoe too.”
A shudder ran down her spine which had little to do with the dreich day or the persistent drizzle. “So you’re saying this will happen? At some point in the future, Uncle Andrew’s house ends up like this and there’s nothing we can do to stop it?”
“I’m telling you that’s how it’s worked so far.” He opened the gate for her. “Zoe’s only had a few visions. There’s not a definitive pattern.”
“Stop being such a bloody academic!” She pushed the gate back against his chest. “It’s my family this is going to happen to. All I’m asking for is your best guess.”
“My best guess is that it will happen.” He pushed on the gate, forcing her to step backwards. “Happy now?”
“How is knowing my uncle’s house is going to be wrecked by an out of control storm witch likely to make me happy?” Her hands landed on her hips as she glared at him.
“You don’t like him.”
“I don’t hate him enough to want to see this happen!”
Winston turned, walking towards her car. The urge to keep yelling at him was strong, really strong. He’d dragged her out here, shown her something guaranteed to upset her when he knew she was feeling terrible and was now walking away when she was angry with him. A coach turned into the parking area, bouncing along the rutted road. Feeling the gaze of many pairs of eyes, her hands slipped from her hips and she followed him.
He waited for her by her car. She glanced around, saw no sign of a motorbike. “How did you get here?”
“Walked. It’s not far.”
She should leave him to walk back. He deserved it. But politeness was engrained in her. “Want a lift?”
“Thanks.”
She opened the door for him, walked around the car, slipped her waterproof off and got into the driver’s seat. Putting the key in the ignition, she was deeply conscious of him beside her. As she released the handbrake, her arm brushed against his sleeve. The silence was more concentrated in the car, the tension between them compressed.
“There’s something else,” she said as the car bounced over the potholes. She was going to have to tell him sometime. She might as well do it now. “When I was at Andrew’s on Sunday night, he offered me a flat in Edinburgh rent free for three months.” Quickly, she filled him in on the conversation and what she suspected of Andrew’s motives.
“You going to take it?” Winston’s tone was neutral, giving no indication of whether he thought she should accept or not.
“Hardly. I can’t leave until we’ve found the storm witch and I don’t want to take something which may or may not be a bribe.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Hal thinks I should take it—”
“That’s probably because he wants you out of the way before his woman arrives.”
“What woman?”
“Don’t know. Heard him on the phone to her last night. All I know is that she’s coming in two weeks and he’s really looking forward to seeing her.”
“You’ve got that wrong. He would have told me.”
“I’m not wrong. I heard him talking to her last night. She’s coming over.”
Automatically, Jenna indicated to turn into the dig site. “Was it Cassie?”
“Didn’t hear a name.”
Jenna shook her head as she turned the steering wheel. The car swayed awkwardly over the rutted grass, bouncing them together. “He’d have told me if Cassie was coming.”
“Would he?”
Hauling on the handbrake, she turned towards him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s playing you, Jenna. And you’re still too in love with him to see it.”
“I am not. Hal and I are over. Were over years ago.”
“But you want him back. It’s obvious. And he still fancies you. That’s why he wants you out of the way before the girlfriend gets here.”
“He does not.” Tears were near now; pooling in her eyes, making her nose run. “Hal and I are friends. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.” He swung open the car door. “But you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
“Why are you being such a git?”
His waterproof rustled as he got out. He bent down to look at her. “I’m not. I’m telling you the truth. It’s not my fault you don’t want to hear it.”
As the car door slammed, Jenna bit down hard on her bottom lip. He was totally out of order. She’d been right about him at the beginning. He was a bastard. An utter, unfeeling, heartless bastard. Why had she ever thought she could trust him?
Slamming the car into gear, she turned the steering wheel. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away. Hal would have told her if Cassie was coming. There’s no way he’d have kept something like that from her.
Exiting the field, she turned onto the road. Only there had been a lot of phone calls. If she thought back over the past week, he’d had a lot of calls on his mobile that he’d had to take and each time he’d gone out of the room so she’d not heard what was said. She’d thought they were about the new house. Were they from Cassie? Was that why he’d not
wanted her to hear? No, that was Winston’s insinuation eating its way through her head. Hal would have told her if Cassie was coming. And he wouldn’t have hugged like he did last night. Twice. It hadn’t felt like friends. You didn’t hug your friends like that. It’d been lovely, really lovely. His gentle hands stroking her back, his head resting against hers. Hal wasn’t the kind of guy who’d do that if he was with someone. Winston might. She wouldn’t put anything past Winston. But not Hal. He wouldn’t mess her about like that.
At the T-junction she looked both ways, waiting for a gap in the traffic to pull out. She was seeing Hal on Sunday. At his new house. Winston was wrong but she could just ask about Cassie. Drop it into conversation and see what he said. But it’d be nothing. She was absolutely sure of it. And once she knew, knew for certain, she could tell Dr Grant to stop bloody interfering.
Chapter 26
Zoe opened her laptop and typed ‘Divination’ into Google. She wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting to find but this had got to be worth a try. The screen filled with search results. The first was the dictionary definition: ‘Divination - the practice of seeking knowledge of the future or the unknown by supernatural means’.
What she’d drawn last night was only a tiny part of the jigsaw. Something was brewing in Orkney, something which would tie this drawing to the one with the birds and the fire. It was hard to see what the link was but if she had another dream then perhaps she’d find it.
So she was going to take the initiative. Instead of waiting for the dreams to come to her, she was going to see if there was any way to summon them. That’s what happened in books and films. As she scrolled down the page, there was a reference to Harry Potter. He’d learned to control his visions by the end, hadn’t he? Of course, that was fiction but there must be something she could do. Something that would make her feel a little less helpless.
There were results relating to some kind of game, a couple of religious sites but surprisingly little about magic. Going back to the top she added ‘magic’ to her search terms. This time the results were more what she’d expected. She clicked on the first link which took her to an article about divination methods: tarot cards, the Celtic ogham, runes, tea leaves… Oh, for heaven’s sake, she wasn’t about to start reading tea leaves! At the bottom of the page was a link to an article on ‘how to develop your psychic ability’. She clicked on it.