Bourn’s Edge

by Barbara Davies

  “It would be raining.” Cassie brushed a strand of damp hair out of her eyes. “And cold.”

  Tarian grunted. She was missing the sweatshirt she had left in Faerie. This tunic was too thin for an English Spring.

  “Listen to me, complaining about the weather,” exclaimed Cassie, after a few more paces. “I should be thankful just to be here at all.” She looked at Tarian. “Thank you for coming after me. You always seem to be rescuing me.”

  “It was my fault Mab targeted you in the first place.” Tarian held back a branch to allow Cassie past. “And it was you who persuaded the Queen to spare my life. You have quite a way with words.”

  “My friends are always telling me I talk too much.” Cassie’s sigh made Tarian chuckle.

  They walked on a little way, the only sound the crack of twigs beneath their feet or the squelch of mud. Then Tarian recognised an old silver birch leaning at an unusual angle. “Nearly there.”

  “Good.” Cassie wiped raindrops from her eyelashes. “I could do with a sit down and a cup of tea.”

  “Or something stronger,” said Tarian, as she emerged into the open and saw her back garden stretching out in front of her. The dogs bounded ahead, stopped outside the kitchen door, and looked back at her, tongues lolling. She paused as unexpected emotion flooded through her.

  I’m back.

  “What is it?” asked Cassie softly.

  “I didn’t realise how much I loved this place until I thought I might never set eyes on it again.” She studied the neglected garden, the window frames in need of another coat of paint, the dirty windowpanes. “I know it’s nothing compared to Mab’s palace but it’s . . .” She shrugged.

  “Home,” completed Cassie.

  Tarian returned the smile.

  She had left the back door unlocked, so she lifted the latch and walked in. While the dogs made straight for their water bowls, drank their fill, and flopped down in their baskets, she turned to survey her kitchen, drinking in the signs of a life put on hold when the Fae hunting party arrived.

  She remembered the posy of flowers in her belt, filled a glass with water from the tap, and placed them in it. Their fragrance filled the kitchen. A memento of Faerie. They won’t last long.

  A shiver reminded her that she was soaked to the skin. “Put the kettle on,” she told Cassie. “I’m going to change into something warmer.”

  Upstairs, she discarded the blood-soaked tunic and breeches and pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans. Then she visited the bathroom and made herself presentable.

  Cassie looked up as she re-entered the kitchen. A tea towel was draped round her neck, and her hair was fetchingly tousled from its use. Tea was brewing in the pot, and she had set out two mugs. She reached for the milk bottle that she must have taken from Tarian’s fridge. “Milk and sugar? Or something stronger?”

  “Just milk.” Tarian flopped down on a chair. Cassie set her mug on the table next to her. “Thanks.” Several sips of tea later, she noticed that Cassie had been frowning at the kitchen clock for a while. “Is it slow?”

  Cassie glanced at her wristwatch before answering. “No. But I was just wondering. How long do you think we’ve been gone? Fairy tales say a day in Faerie is a year here.”

  “Another of those things that folklore hasn’t got quite right. Time passes at the same rate, but our days are out of synch—how much depends on which crossing you use.”

  “There are other entrances than the one in Bourn Forest?”

  Tarian nodded. “Most have fallen into disuse though.”

  “I see.” Cassie looked at the clock again. It was only seven-thirty in the morning. “So we’ve been away, what, a day at most?”

  “Not even that. I’d guess it’s Monday morning.”

  Cassie mouthed the word, “Monday.” She blinked as something occurred to her. “Liz Hayward’s going to wonder where I spent last night. She’ll think you and I . . .” She blushed.

  “So what if she does?” Her reaction amused Tarian. “You’re a grown woman.”

  “You don’t mind people thinking that?” Cassie’s gaze was intent.

  “Why should I?”

  “I just thought . . .” She gave a shrug and subsided, muttering, “I don’t know what I thought.”

  Tarian cocked her head. “No?” Cassie’s behaviour since they’d returned from Faerie was confusing her. Now she knew who Tarian was—what she was—why hadn’t Cassie fled at the first opportunity? Tarian had been trying her best not to invade Cassie’s privacy, but now she extended her senses. There was no trace of the fear, the revulsion, in Cassie that she had every right to expect. Just a mix of gratitude and attraction. Tarian glanced at the flowers sitting in the glass of water.

  “You didn’t put a spell on me, did you?” asked Cassie. She had followed Tarian’s glance.

  “What kind of spell? Oh.” She smiled. “If you’re attracted to me it’s not because of any spell.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know I’m attracted to you?”

  Tarian wasn’t about to give away any more secrets just yet. “Do you give flowers to people you don’t like?” She cocked her head. “If it helps, I’m attracted to you too.”

  Cassie gave her a relieved smile. “It helps.”

  “We didn’t get off to a very good start on Saturday night, did we?”

  “No.”

  “If dinner had gone to plan, I was hoping to do this.” Tarian stood up, took hold of Cassie’s hands, and drew her to her feet.

  “What?” asked Cassie. But from her shy expression she knew very well. And when Tarian bent her head and kissed her, tentatively at first, then more surely, tasting the flavour of tea on her mouth, she found her kiss returned.

  After a while, they simply stood, holding one another. Cassie’s heart, which had been pounding, had slowed to a more reasonable pace, and she was radiating contentment. The dogs lifted their heads and regarded Tarian smugly.

  Tarian smiled. They knew this would happen before I did.

  “You know who I am, yet you’re not afraid of me,” she mused aloud, enjoying the feel of Cassie’s curves pressed against her, the warm arms wrapped round her. This is what I’ve missed.

  “Why should I be?” Cassie’s voice was muffled by Tarian’s shoulder. “You’re my protector. My champion.”

  She liked the sound of that.

  Are you out of your mind? asked an inner voice. Relationships between Fae and mortals always come to grief. She silenced the voice. Not always. And would you sentence me to eternal loneliness or let me try to find happiness where I can? The voice had no answer to that.

  At last, Tarian disentangled herself, to noises of protest from Cassie. She looked down at her, smiled, and stroked her cheek. “I’d like to get to know you better, Cassie. A lot better. But for now, you should go home. You’ve been through a lot. You need to rest, and to think. It’s not every day your world-view gets turned upside down.”

  Cassie sighed. “I suppose.”

  “If I don’t hear from you again,” she began, flattered when Cassie started to object. “No, hear me out. If you decide it’s better we don’t see each other again, for whatever reason, I’ll understand. But if you want to take things further, well, I’ll be here. All you have to do is knock.”

  Chapter 11

  Cassie parked outside Tarian’s cottage and turned off the ignition. It was wonderful to have her car back, though the repairs had put a sizeable dent in her credit card. She got out, opened the boot, and pulled out her travel bag.

  “Morning, Miss Lewis,” came a man’s voice. “So it’s today you move in with Ms. Brangwen, is it?”

  She turned and saw Simon Wright walking past. “Yes, Reverend. It’s today.”

  He nodded, waved, and walked on. From his expression, she knew he didn’t really approve of her burgeoning relationship with Tarian. He was fearful on her behalf, which was sweet of him but unnecessary. How could he understand his instincts had misled him?

 
Liz Hayward’s jaw had also dropped when Cassie announced she would be terminating her stay at the B & B and moving in to the forester’s house. But by then the landlady had seen the two of them walking hand in hand about the village, wolfhounds at their heels, so it hadn’t come as a complete bolt from the blue.

  Cassie closed the boot and lugged the heavy travel bag towards the front door. She hadn’t told her parents yet that she was seeing someone and that it was serious, but that was a conversation for another day. As was the one she would have to have with her boss at the library. She would have to decide what to do about her future, and soon.

  She looked at her luggage then at Tarian’s front door and gave a wry smile. Looks like I’ve already decided.

  The door opened, and Tarian and the dogs emerged. “What are you waiting for?”

  “A porter to carry my luggage?”

  Tarian grinned and took the bag from her, handling it as though it weighed almost nothing. Cassie shook her head at that unconscious show of strength and followed her inside and up the stairs.

  “I’ve made up the spare bedroom,” said Tarian, showing her into a little room overlooking the back garden she had never been in before. “It’s not up to Liz Hayward’s standards, I’m afraid.” She gestured at the mismatched, shabby furniture. “No TV. No electric kettle.”

  Cassie crossed the room and hugged her. “It’s got you,” she said and turned her face up for a kiss. Tarian grinned and obliged. “Besides,” Cassie said, when Tarian let her up for breath again, “I don’t imagine I’ll be sleeping in here, will I?”

  Tarian drew back and arched an eyebrow at her. She had made it clear the invitation to move in came with no strings. “Is that what you want?”

  Amazed at her own boldness, Cassie nodded.

  Tarian chuckled and gave her another kiss. “All right.”

  When she’d unpacked, they snuggled on the sofa in front of Tarian’s log fire, and Cassie broached a subject she knew was important to them both.

  “DS Edlin rang me this morning.”

  “Oh?” Tarian’s voice was neutral, but tension had crept into the arm draped around Cassie’s shoulder.

  “It was good news and bad news. The good news is: Armitage’s organisation is in chaos. Four of the men who worked for him have disappeared.”

  Tarian grunted. “Imagine that.”

  “The bad news is: he hasn’t been able to pin the white van attack on anyone. So it’s a no to the witness protection scheme.”

  Tarian’s arm tightened around her. “I’ll protect you.”

  “I know you will,” murmured Cassie. “But only if I stay here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if’?” Tarian removed her arm, and Cassie felt its loss at once. “Have you changed your mind?” Anwar and Drysi lifted their heads and gave Cassie reproachful looks.

  “I didn’t mean that how it sounds,” said Cassie. She took a breath and tried again. “Look, I have to go back sometime, Tarian. To clear up the mess I left behind. I’ve got to find a place for Murphy—he won’t get on with the dogs if I bring him here—and I want to see Mum and Dad and my friends, let them see I’m fine, and they don’t need to worry about me. I also have to clear out my flat and give notice to the landlord. Paying rent for a place I don’t live in anymore is a waste.”

  Tarian draped her arm round Cassie’s shoulders again. With a smile, Cassie leaned into it. “You could come with me, to keep me safe.”

  “All right.”

  “What?” She glanced at Tarian, and as she seemed to do a lot lately, got lost in gazing at that breathtaking profile.

  “I said, all right, I’ll come with you,” said Tarian.

  Cassie came back to herself with a start. “Will you?” She sat up. “That’s great. Wow! I can’t wait to introduce you to everyone. They’ll be gobsmacked.” Tarian gave her a sceptical look. “Oh come on. Have you taken a look in the mirror? They’ll be so jealous. Not everyone has their very own Fae lover and protector.”

  “Probably best not to mention the Fae bit.”

  Cassie gave her a sheepish grin. “They’d never believe it anyway.” She pinched her forearm and winced. “I still can’t quite believe it myself.”

  “Hardly surprising.” Tarian rubbed Cassie’s forearm better. “Some mortals never do. They’d rather deny the evidence of their own eyes; it’s too unsettling otherwise. Or they fit us into their existing world-view, make us into demons or devils.” She paused. “Are you still getting nightmares?”

  “A few.” The spiked ball tearing into Tarian’s shoulder, the bloody pulp that had been Cadel’s skull knitting itself back together . . . Those and other gory images were frequent visitors to her dreams. “I think being here with you will help though.”

  Tarian nodded and pulled her closer, and Cassie found herself wanting to be naked and in her arms. She was about to suggest they go upstairs when Tarian roused herself from staring at the flames.

  “Listen, Cassie, I’ll come back with you to Birmingham to keep you safe, of course I will. But that’s only a short-term solution. Armitage will always be a threat to you. Let me take care of him.”

  “Can you do that?” asked Cassie in surprise. “Even while he’s locked up in Winson Green?” Her magic must be more powerful than I thought.

  Tarian nodded. “But if I do,” she turned to look at Cassie, “there’ll be nothing to keep you here.”

  Her expression gave nothing away, but day by day Cassie was getting better at reading her, and she heard the uncertainty. Her Fae lover was surprisingly unsure of herself at times. “Yes there will.” She lifted her hand to stroke Tarian’s cheekbone. “I may not need your protection anymore, but I’ll need you.”

  “Hm.” Tarian gave her a pleased smile, tilted Cassie’s face towards her, and kissed her.

  Cassie’s head was still spinning from the kiss when another thought struck her. “You won’t kill him, will you?”

  “Armitage? Don’t you want me to?” Tarian sounded surprised.

  “No. There’s been enough death. But you could punish him, a little.” For the pain and anguish he’s caused.

  Tarian pulled Cassie closer. “All right,” she said. “I won’t kill him.”

  “PARCEL FOR YOU, Mr Armitage.”

  The guard standing in the doorway of Armitage’s cell was holding a flat, rectangular package under his left arm. It was about two feet by three feet, and had been wrapped in brown paper and string, before the prison authorities tore it open at one end.

  Armitage put down his Playboy magazine, stubbed out his cigar, and sat up. “Anything interesting?”

  The guard crossed to his bed and handed him the parcel. “Depends on what you mean by interesting. I didn’t know you were an art lover, Mr Armitage.”

  “I’m not.” He turned the parcel over to see who it was from. Tarian Brangwen. What kind of a name is that? There was no address, and he couldn’t make out the postmark. He tore off what remained of the brown paper and frowned at what it revealed.

  A painting. Not a very good one either. A forest clearing with a hunting party in it. What were they hunting? Stag? He was no art critic but he knew what he liked, and this wasn’t it. Nothing about the scene was right. The light and colours were all wrong, the trees spindly, the dogs too large, and the riders’ faces and bodies distorted, too tall and thin. The only things that looked realistic were the horses.

  “Who sent me this piece of crap?”

  As he peered at it, a sensation of dizziness swept over him, and he stretched out a hand to steady himself. The wall felt rough under his palm as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Mr. Armitage? Mr. Armitage, are you all right?”

  The room was growing blurry, as though a mist were billowing in the door. It swirled around his ankles, rose to knee level.

  “Mist—er—Arm—it—age?” The guard’s voice sounded like a tape playing at too slow a speed. “Shit!—Get—the—doc,” he yelled to someone in the corridor outside. “I—th
ink—Arm—it—age—is—hav—ing—a—stroke.”

  Then the mist enveloped him, and there was a roaring in his ears and a sensation of falling . . .

  He was standing in a clearing just like the one in the painting. Something buzzed in his ear, and he flinched and flailed at it. The insect darted out of reach before returning to the attack. Pain stabbed the back of his neck. Damned thing! He slapped his neck and examined the bloody smear in his palm. Got you, you bastard!

  It was warm here, humid. Already there were damp patches under his arms, and he could feel sweat beginning to trickle down his back. The smell of leaf mould and of things growing was overpowering. I’m outdoors. He sneezed. I hate outdoors.

  What sounded like a hunting horn blew in the distance, then came the faint baying of hounds. He cocked his head and listened. The horn blew again. It sounded closer this time, and so did the baying.

  Suddenly Armitage knew, with cast iron certainty, that the hunters were coming for him. A feeling of terror, visceral in its intensity, swept over him. Like a hare that knows the fox has spotted it, he stood poised, eyes wide, his whole body shivering. Then with a loud sob, he began to run.

  PART 2

  THE DOLL HOSPITAL

  Chapter 1

  Tarian held the haunch of wild boar out of reach of her two wolfhounds. “That’s for later.” Anwar and Drysi whined and gave her their best mournful looks but her heart was as stone. “You’ve had your breakfast,” she reminded them.

  Tails drooping, they lay down on the gravel, resting their heads on their front paws and doing their best to look put upon.

  She rolled her eyes and squeezed the joint of meat into the tiny car boot alongside the rest of the dogs’ supplies and the two overnight bags. The bags bulged. Tarian wasn’t taking much, but Cassie . . . You’d never guess they planned to be away a week at most.

  Footsteps made her look around as Cassie emerged from the front door of the forester’s house. Gaily-wrapped parcels piled in her arms almost hid her from view. Tarian went to help her before she dropped something.