“Don’t worry about it, tell me what you know.”
“It’s this girl I work with. You’ve probably heard me mention her: Cassy.”
“The one who got burned on a sunbed?”
Sophie smirked. “Yes, that one. Complete airhead, but a kind girl. I didn’t even know about this circumstance until it was too late. We don’t talk that intimately, you know. I just noticed something was wrong with her. She was... listless. Totally not like her. So I asked her. And this look she gave me... I recognised it, Leah. Made me shiver.” Sophie shivered theatrically to emphasise her words, and Leah found herself freckled by a shiver too.
“She was haunted, lost...” Sophie continued. “For a moment she was you, and that was even before she told me his name.”
“What a chilling coincidence.”
“You seem to be taking this very calmly.”
“I don’t know what I’m taking yet, go on.”
“Well naturally, she didn’t spill her guts to me immediately. As I said, we’re not that close, but she wanted to talk, I suppose, and simply told me ‘this guy, he’s doing my head in’. I just said something soothing like ‘Oh men, bane of our lives, aren’t they? Can’t live with or without, as they say.’ Cassy answered, ‘yes, it’s just like that,’ then walked away from me, right as I was saying something else. At the time I thought it was rather rude.”
Leah didn’t interrupt or make any noises or gestures of encouragement. She found, in fact, she was becoming increasingly frozen and was aware of a soft whistling noise in her head.
“Cassy didn’t get any better, and it started to affect her work. As her supervisor, I was eventually obliged to get her into the office and have a little talk.” Sophie paused, clearly waiting for a signal Leah was listening or interested. “Are you OK with this?”
“Of course. Merely waiting to hear.”
“You’re not completely OK with it, are you? You just can’t resist knowing.”
“Then just tell me.”
“The merest comment on Cassy’s recent behaviour had her in tears. She told me she had a disease, and at first I took that at face value and thought she’d got herself into some embarrassing trouble, but even little airhead Cassy can speak in metaphor. I told her to tell me about it, and she did, then. What she described, the mind games, the hot and cold episodes, the yearning to escape, only to be reeled back in, it was familiar. I think I knew even before she found the courage to say his name.”
“Lots of people behave like that, men and women alike,” Leah said. “That kind of behaviour isn’t confined to one man, or even one gender.”
“It goes further than that with him, you know it does.”
Vampire, Leah thought. “I’m not sure. My views on the man are hardly unbiased.”
“Take it from me, it does,” Sophie continued. “Cassy told me how she’d met him, how he’d seemed like a brother at first. He brought light to her, she said. She fell into love, like someone falling into a vat of acid; to be eaten away, slowly and painfully. They met almost every day – to talk. Sometimes, he’d lightly touch her... his eyes would hold her with promises he never said aloud. She wanted more and expected it, even dared to make subtle moves.”
“And then the shutters came down.”
Sophie nodded. “But of course not entirely, because that’s not part of the game, is it? He knows how to drive someone crazy, so he cracked his knuckles and got on with it.”
“Poor girl.”
“When she revealed his name, I had to... I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mention yours... but I told her I’d heard of him and that someone I knew had gone through the same thing. I told her she had to break contact immediately, because it could go on for years, him feeding off her; it would get worse, and never better.”
“Did she listen to you?”
“Did she, hell! Did you?”
“And does she know about the wife?”
“Yes. She got the same story as you did, too pathetic and clichéd to be real, but utterly gobbled up.”
Leah grimaced. “His problem is, he’s bored and wants affairs, but lacks the balls to do anything physical about it. He’s more conventional than he likes to think he is. It’s no more than that, and some of us are stupid enough to think we can change people.”
Sophie raised her brows. “Is that how you’ve cleaned it up in your head?”
“I believe it to be the truth. I – and also this Cassy – are just as at fault as he is. Neediness, insecurity, the garbage we carry around.” Leah made a casual gesture. “Tell her that.”
“You don’t believe a word of that,” Sophie said. “He has magic. He might not know it, but he has, and he uses it. Perhaps it’s time for others who have it to take him to task.”
“It’s none of our business. Everyone is responsible for...”
“Leah, stop it, you’ve not heard me out. I spoke with Matty about it.”
Matty was a mutual friend, who was also a friend of Lyle’s. Leah still met him once a month for dinner. Lyle was never mentioned, probably because Matty still felt guilty for introducing Leah to Lyle in the first place. “What did he say?”
“He told me there had been two others, who he knew of, after you. Cassy would be the third. Apparently, the second one got out quick, although the first one was beaten up pretty badly by it. Matty only knew about them because they were part of his and Lyle’s social circle and he saw it happening. He didn’t know about Cassy. And gods know how many more there are! Lyle sucks the living energy out of people, Leah. It’s food to him. Do you honestly think it’s OK to know predators like that are hunting vulnerable people and not do something about it? Don’t you want to help Cassy? She’s helpless, she’s... bewitched.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Turn a mirror on him,” Sophie said grimly. “Throw that leech energy back at him. Make him taste his own self. If that doesn’t choke him, nothing will.”
“Pointless,” Leah said. “He’s impervious to magic, believe me.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes, because I threw the book at it. I tried everything to bring harmony into our sick situation, communication, honesty, all that bullshit...”
“Bullshit?”
Leah shook her head. “It was a waste of time. He’s impervious.”
“And that’s what killed your faith in yourself,” Sophie said, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. Her expression had become flinty. “You lost your faith in magic, which is why you left the group. That’s the truth, isn’t it? The real bullshit was the excuse you gave us about how you’d suddenly become too busy to be spiritual.”
Leah gestured helplessly. “I don’t want to argue about this, we should drop it. I don’t want any further... contamination... by even thinking about Lyle, never mind doing some ritual to try and bring him into line, which wouldn’t work anyway.”
Sophie wiped her hands over her face, sighed. “I remember a woman who believed we were capable of anything. I remember the amazing times we had, the energy we raised, the good we did. That woman was an inspiration. I can’t – and don’t want to – believe a shit like Brett Lyle could destroy that woman for good.”
“I let him happen to me,” Leah said. “If you must look at it in terms of magic, let’s just say he was a test I failed. And much as I would like to see him gunned down in cold blood, never mind be given a civilised, chastening lesson in self-awareness and responsibility, it’s unethical to try and influence another’s will. You know that, Soph. We’ve always abided by that.”
“But what about the will of those he targets?”
Leah shrugged. “Like I said, a test. We don’t have to fall for it, but some do. And you mentioned the ‘second one’ who got away quick. She passed the test. There are no doubt others.”
“I don’t want to believe Brett Lyle is on this earth as a life lesson for vulnerable women,” Sophie said. “That’s too cruel to contemplate.”
�
�Yes it is. It’s bloody cruel. And however many rituals you do, or believe that the universe loves you and wants the best for you, the cruelty is still there. I’m sorry, Sophie. We should have talked about this before. Yes, I lost my faith. Magic is a comforting illusion, like the religions we so scorned, and there’s nothing wrong in that, or the aim of groups like ours who want to make a difference. But at the end of it all, most of the positive results must be down to luck, or coincidence. I think focused will can move mountains, yes, but perhaps not to order, and not all the time. One thing I learned is that we are truly alone. There is no greater power looking out for us.”
Sophie stared at Leah unwaveringly. “He should be tried for murder,” she said.
LEAH WAS UNHAPPY at the way she and Sophie parted. She was unhappy that the truth was out, because she didn’t want to hurt her erstwhile group mates. She knew she had been a kind of figurehead to them, so for that reason had tried to bow out subtly and slowly. She hadn’t wanted them to know she simply couldn’t believe in what they did any more. Just thinking about them sitting in a circle, with linked hands, believing they could change the world for the better, made her heart contract with love. It was better to be like them than like she was now.
Unlike Sophie, Leah was self-employed and worked from home. She ran a successful catering business that, aside from weddings and other such big events, offered themed evenings for groups of female friends. In the past, this had included Arabian Nights, Egyptian Magic, Celtic Dream, to name a few. This had been Leah’s favourite part of her job. Food and drink had been tailored to the events, which had had a superficially witchy gleam. A friend from her magical group, Ellie, used to come along with merchandise – trinkets, glittering scarves, perfume and jewellery – which the women would browse through and then purchase as they nibbled their exotic treats. As part of the evening’s activities, out would come the Tarot cards, and the women would pay a little extra for that. Most evenings, another friend, Sarah, would be there to offer healing or massage. And with repeat clients, once they realised the three women they invited into their homes to pamper them were witches, rather different commissions appeared in Leah’s in-box. Word spread. She and her friends had been asked to help with sickness, with broken hearts, with money troubles. And to the best of their ability, they did. This was so successful, it got to the point where Leah had had to turn commissions down.
When Brett Lyle had plunged the final knife into her by abruptly exiting her life without chance for discussion or even a decent farewell, the shock of it, never mind the pain, had diminished Leah considerably, and she had taken a break from her work. In fact, she had been unable to concentrate on preparing the food for any events, never mind the special ones where she was required to sit and read the cards, or try to help people magically when their lives had taken a turn for the worse. All she wanted to say to them was, “You shouldn’t be paying me for this. Life is either crap, great or bearable, and Fate takes a swing at us when it likes. If things are good, enjoy them, if they’re bearable, count your luck, if they’re bad, poor you. Find a lawyer, a doctor or a psychiatrist. Nothing I can do will change a thing.” She had this little speech off by heart, practiced as she lay on her couch in the dim afternoons.
Eventually the emails and calls seeking to hire her died off. At this time, she began to drift away from her magical group also.
After a couple of months, realising that life inevitably continues, as do bills, Leah started looking for work again, and also reinvented the special part of the business, which she regarded as her personal indulgence. Now she offered parties having the theme of a genteel life gone by; afternoon tea on delicate china, such as would have been enjoyed by ‘ladies’ in earlier decades. She scoured second hand and charity shops for appropriate crockery and cutlery, eventually building up an impressive collection. She experimented with baking recipes she found in old cooking books, and after some careful promotion and free teas in strategic places, the new business shone like the old. Emulating the ‘extra services’ offered by the previous parties, Leah employed two girls to accompany her and provide facials and manicures. Women of all kinds liked the parties, which proved more successful than Leah had envisaged. But then, she had a gift with preparing food that some would call magical; she invested into her business on more than one level, and paid great attention to detail. It might have been a nice touch if, as part of the events, she’d read the tea leaves for her clients, but Leah firmly refused to let herself offer that.
And yet, despite her scepticism and denial, didn’t magic still nibble at her? When she baked her cakes, working good feeling into the mixture, and sought out the exact special kinds of teas she felt were right, wasn’t she still indulging in ritual?
AFTER HER LUNCH with Sophie, Leah entered her house and, in the hallway, faced the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the door. The glass was faintly smoked, giving a reflection that had always looked to Leah like a scene from a spooky film with a blue filter over it.
“Really, Leah,” she said to herself. “When are you going to forget what happened? You don’t kid me, you know.”
Shaking her head, she turned to her answerphone on the table beneath the mirror to listen to messages from clients wanting to hire her. She wrote down the details on the pad by the phone. Then came the last one, the third, the fateful knocking upon the door.
“Hello, this is Carol Lyle. I’d like to book a tea party, please, for my birthday in three weeks’ time, the 7th. I hope this isn’t too short notice, but a friend recommended you. My address is number 8, The Ashes and if you’d like to return my call, my number is...”
At first, Leah didn’t realise who it was; she merely wrote down the address and phone number, thinking she might not be able to fit this woman in. And then, as if her reflection was still displayed in the smoky mirror and calling to her, she thought, Wait... wait a minute! She went quickly to her office in what was supposed to be the dining room and looked at her cloth-bound appointment book, which lay on the desk. In this she wrote down her appointments in a neat curling script. 7th March. She flicked to the relevant page. As she thought, someone had already booked her for that day; one of her regulars.
Looking at the page, she picked up the phone on the desk, stabbed in a number. “Hello, is that Shannon? Hi, it’s Leah Metcalfe here, I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to cancel our appointment for the 7th. Something unavoidable and rather serious has cropped up... I’m more than happy to give you a free party on another date if you’d like one...”
Leah ended the call, punched in another number. “Hello, is this Carol Lyle? This is Leah Metcalfe from ‘Tea Cakes’. You called me earlier about a party...”
LEAH HAD NO idea what was urging her on, but decided simply to go with it. It was a coincidence beyond all fathomable coincidences that Brett Lyle’s wife had called her on the very day that Sophie had told her about Cassy. You don’t believe, but just go with it... If you’re being thrown a bone by Fate, snatch it up...
Leah had never met Carol Lyle, and only knew what she looked like from when she had once investigated Lyle’s Facebook page where he displayed ‘jolly’ photos of family get togethers. Leah had seen a rather plump, short but attractive brunette, with a wide and innocent smile. She had been smiling in every photo. On the phone, Carol sounded chatty and rather nervous. She laughed a lot.
“I know it is rather short notice,” she said.
“That’s no problem,” Leah replied in her smoothest, most comforting tone. “As luck would have it, there’s been a cancellation for the 7th. You must be sure to have all men folk out of the way!” Leah added one of her smokiest laughs. “My parties are girls only.”
“Of course, of course,” said Carol Lyle. “I wouldn’t be getting anything for my birthday if I wasn’t doing this myself. Just some girlfriends and my Mum and sister.”
“Great,” said Leah. “Shall we discuss the menu?”
LEAH CONSIDERED NOT taking her assistants along,
but then decided she should not alter her habitual ritual. (There it was again.) The party was set for 6.00 pm – an odd time, really. Clients usually opted for an afternoon event or an evening one; not this in between time when people normally ate dinner and then did something else.
Leah prepared the food with especial care. As she conjured her mixtures, she found she had much sympathetic feeling for Carol Lyle. That nervous laugh, that trusting smile. It seemed particularly cruel for the vampire Brett Lyle to be married to someone like that. But I suppose she’s malleable, Leah thought. She won’t make a fuss, even when she suspects... she was chosen precisely.
As she was standing at the door to number 8, The Ashes, (new housing estate, pricey), on a fairly mild March evening, with her assistants behind her, Leah knew why she was doing this. She had to see. And when she had seen, she might act.
While they waited for Carol to answer the door, Leah remembered Brett Lyle taking her in his arms, enfolding her as if with wings. “This is how we are,” he had murmured. She had felt like a mortal woman seduced by a dark angel. But their kisses had always been chaste. His gaze, however, had never been that.
Leah dismissed the memory, pulled herself together. The door was opening, light spilling out.
Carol Lyle bounced onto the front step. “Hi, hi. Do you need any help with your stuff?”
“No, we’ll carry everything,” Leah said. “Can you just show us to the kitchen? Amber and Rachel will need somewhere to set up, too, if that’s all right.”
“Come in, come in...”
Leah stepped over the threshold. This was Brett Lyle’s front, this middle class life on an ordinary if upmarket housing estate. This was his lair, to which he always returned; his coffin full of native soil.
It was a comfortable home, although everything was new as if it had only just arrived from a furnishing warehouse. Anyone would have thought the Lyles had recently moved in, except Leah had known 8 The Ashes as Lyle’s address when she’d been seeing him. It hadn’t been that difficult to discover.
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