“Your garden’s lovely,” said Jenny. “Quiet.”
“We like it,” said Cassie.
Tarian rested her chin on her arm again. “It’s mostly Cassie’s doing.” She closed her eyes and let the sun ease the ache in her shoulders. She’d been painting all morning, so caught up in her new canvas she’d forgotten to take a break. Until Cassie came wagging her finger at her.
Jenny sighed. “I can’t even keep a pot plant alive. Dewi’s not much better. We’ve got brown fingers, the pair of us.”
“I bet your husband throws a great flowerpot though,” said Cassie.
“Which reminds me,” said Jenny. “Dewi was wondering if Tarian would like to have another go at making pottery some time.”
“Yes,” said Tarian at once. “I was thinking of trying my hand at a vase next. Or some coffee mugs. Or maybe some egg cups.”
“Egg cups?” echoed Cassie.
“We need a couple more for when we have guests,” she explained.
“Ah.”
Cassie’s birthday was rapidly approaching, and her parents had been muttering about coming to stay the weekend after next. Tarian wasn’t looking forward to it, but for Cassie’s sake she was willing to make the sacrifice.
It dawned on Tarian that she had forgotten to send Jenny and Dewi a birthday invitation. She couldn’t very well mention the surprise celebration while Cassie was present though. Tarian had booked a table for a select few of their friends at the Green Man—they did surprisingly good food if given sufficient notice. Liz Hayward, Mike the mechanic, and Cath from the Post Office had all promised to come. Tarian made a mental note to ring Jenny about it later.
“Great,” said Jenny. “I’ll tell Dewi, and you can make arrangements. Though it had better not be for the next couple of days. He sprained his wrist yesterday, getting some heavy pots out of the kiln.”
An easy silence fell, and the crunching of bones sounded suddenly loud.
“Don’t your dogs keep escaping into the forest?” wondered Jenny.
“All the time,” said Cassie. “But they always come back. So, what’s the latest gossip from Nether Hopton?”
“Well.” Jenny’s voice became animated. “For a start, the stone circle has been vandalised.”
Tarian’s focus had been on getting Cassie and the dogs home without attracting attention. Had she missed something when she restored the circle? She rolled over onto her back and flung her arms out on either side.
“Dewi thinks it must have happened the other night,” said Jenny. “The night you were missing, Cassie. He saw moving lights.”
“And?” Cassie sounded apprehensive.
“Some of the standing stones are chipped. There’s some charring too.” Jenny paused. “Maybe it wasn’t vandals. Maybe it was pagans, dancing around a bonfire.”
“Probably just a thunderstorm,” said Tarian, yawning. “Lightning would account for the lights. And the chipping and charring too.”
“Oh,” said Jenny, disappointed.
Cassie laughed.
“What else? Oh yes. The new faith healer’s done a bunk. Just when we could have used his services too. Oh well. Dewi’s wrist will have to get better on its own.”
“What faith healer?” asked Cassie.
“Oh, didn’t I mention him? Corryn, his name was. Not sure if that was his first or last name. He rented poor Eddy Spurrier’s house. You know. The bookseller who went bankrupt and killed himself?” Jenny glanced at her watch. “Oh! Is that the time? I’d better get on.” She stood up. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Cassie. And thank God you’re coming back on Monday. The temporary driver is useless—we’ve had loads of complaints. Your regulars have been asking after you.”
“Nice of them.”
Cassie led Jenny into the house. Moments later Tarian heard the sound of a car driving away. She rolled over onto her front once more and closed her eyes.
The back door creaked open, and footsteps headed towards her. Cassie dropped with a soft grunt onto the rug next to her. “Shift over.”
Tarian did and waited for Cassie to make herself comfortable.
“Faith healer?” said Cassie. “I wouldn’t have said Corryn was the healing type.”
Tarian twisted so she could see Cassie’s face. “It makes a kind of sense, given his idea of amusement. Tempt people in by promising to heal them and then curse them instead.”
“That’s despicable.”
She shrugged. “That’s Corryn.”
Cassie grunted. “So have you heard from Einion yet?”
“While you were out shopping.”
Mab had been in no hurry to pass judgement on Corryn for returning prematurely, but once she had, Tarian’s old friend had made use of one of the queen’s messengers to bring her the news. The huge black crow had perched on a branch of her rowan tree and croaked the tidings to her, accompanying them with a series of mental images.
“Well?”
“As I expected. Mab chose the most severe punishment available.” Tarian watched understanding dawn.
“She unmade him?”
Tarian nodded. “He argued hard for his life at the end but it did no good. Mab knows how to bear a grudge.” She reached over and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind Cassie’s ear. “He had no advocate to speak for him the way you spoke for me. He’ll never bother us again.”
Cassie said nothing, and Tarian studied her face. She knew how tender Cassie’s heart was. “Does his death trouble you?”
For a moment Tarian thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then Cassie’s nostrils flared, and when she spoke it was in a fierce whisper. “I thought it might. But you know what?” She held Tarian’s gaze. “I’m glad he’s dead. For what he did to us. Glad.”
“Me too,” Tarian whispered, and kissed her.
Epilogue
It was drizzling in Nether Hopton, and those queuing in the Raggedy Bush’s car park wore rain hoods or sheltered under battered umbrellas.
A white minibus-cum-van, with “Welcome to your library” stencilled on its side, came bowling along the road. At its appearance the sun emerged from behind a cloud, and even the arthritic old woman clutching a pile of Westerns broke into a smile.
The mobile library turned into the car park and came to a sedate halt. Its driver got out, hurried around to the side door, and unlocked it.
“Nice to see you back, Cassie,” said the plump woman with the earrings.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sheldon. Nice to be back. Go ahead and choose your books.” Cassie gestured at the open door. “I won’t be long.”
Surprised glances followed her across the road onto the common. Her chin gained a determined tilt as she strode across the wet grass, heading towards the lopsided hawthorn tree that stood at the common’s centre, sodden rags drooping from its branches.
As she walked, she delved in her jacket pocket, and pulled out a paint-spattered strip of grey fabric. “It was only fit for the bin, anyway,” she murmured, as though rehearsing her defence.
In front of the raggedy bush, she stopped and looked up, considering. “After all,” she said to no one in particular, “it seems only fair that Tarian should get some benefit.” But just in case Tarian disagreed, Cassie had made sure not to mention what she was about to do.
Lack of height limited her choices, so after a moment, she stretched on tiptoe, and, careful to avoid the thorns, tied the grey strip to the lowest branch. Having reassured herself with a sharp tug that it wasn’t going to come loose in a hurry, she stepped back. Her gaze turned inwards, and she took a deep breath and let it out. When next she spoke, it was slowly and clearly and in a slightly singsong voice, enunciating every syllable.
“Raggedy Bush, O Raggedy Bush, hear me and hear me well.” Cassie had no idea what the protocol for these things was, so she was winging it. “I, Cassie Lewis,” she went on, “have a wish for you and it is this. I wish with all my heart for Tarian to live a long, happy, and healthy life. And please, if it’s not too much tr
ouble, that I get to spend it with her.”
The tree gave no sign that it had heard her, but what had she expected? For a moment longer, she waited. Then, with a shrug, she turned to retrace her steps.
But as Cassie hurried back towards the waiting mobile library, her lips curved in a secretive smile, and her step acquired a jaunty spring. For she knew something that only one other person living did. This particular raggedy bush, alone amongst its kind, could and more importantly would grant wishes. And as the rag she had torn from Tarian’s favourite sweatshirt decayed, so Cassie’s dearest wish was guaranteed to come true.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Barbara Davies was born in Birmingham, England. A graduate of York University, she worked in IT first in Surrey then in Gloucestershire.
She published her first short story in 1994. Since then, her fiction has appeared in various genre magazines, ezines, and anthologies, including Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Lacuna, Tales of the Talisman, Sorcerous Signals, Khimairal Ink, Neo Opsis, and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine.
Barbara’s historical novels: Christie and the Hellcat, Rebeccah and the Highwayman, and Frederica and the Viscountess, plus a collection of her specfic short stories: Into the Yellow and other Stories are available from Bedazzled Ink.
Barbara now lives in Gloucestershire. Her website is:
www.barbaradavies.co.uk
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