by Terry Madden
“Perhaps I should have added a bit more flour to the mix.”
“Testing it would have been good,” Connor said.
“Now don’t touch your face or wash your hands. We’ll have to apply it often.”
“Or I could just be gray.”
“Here.” Lyleth held up a dented hand mirror she’d found in the drawer. “Have a look.”
“Prematurely gray and dying of leprosy.” He cast the mirror aside. “What makes you think Fiach will see you?”
A look passed between Lyleth and Dylan. Of course, Connor knew nothing of their past. “I have my doubts that he will see me. But I must try. That stew smells grand.”
Connor stood, adjusted his belt and tugged at the hem of his new tunic. The trousers were a bit short, and there was still an unnatural look about him, his hair and beard the color of tarnished silver.
“I’m starving,” he said. “Maybe you should just bring something back for me. I can stay with Dylan.”
“Let him rest,” she said, and started for the door. When Connor didn’t follow, she added, “Come on. I’ll protect you.”
The small common room was crowded, and the low beams of the ceiling magnified the noise and smells, not all pleasant. Lyleth’s stomach growled in response. She’d had nothing but grasshoppers for the past few days. The son of the alewife was busy displaying Connor’s magic square to a group of patrons. Lyleth pushed through the crowd to stand beside him.
“Do you have a reply to my message?”
“Oh aye.” He nodded to a lone figure sitting at a small corner table. He whispered to her, “But he wants none to know he’s ‘ere.”
Chapter 15
“Iris?”
Dish sat in his wheelchair before the open door, feeling cool air inside his open mouth. He was staring up at Iris McCreary, Connor’s co-conspirator in the effort to save Dish from oblivion six years ago. Dish hadn’t seen her since graduation day at St. Thom’s.
“Forgive me, come in,” he told her. “I assume you’re looking for Connor?”
Iris dropped her rucksack on the sofa and planted her hands on her hips. By the looks of her, Dish assessed she’d failed to grow up in the past six years as well. How could she hope to get a job with that much hardware on her face?
“I’m too late,” she said. “I knew it.”
“Connor sent you a message?”
“Email. He said Merryn was coming home from the hospital, that you and him were going to take care of her. I thought maybe you could use some help.”
“You flew over here just for this?”
“Oh, no. I was already here. Summer adventure, y’know. A little clubbing, concerts. Supposed to meet up with Connor in Lancashire about now.” The look on her face said there was more.
“You’re helping him look for the well,” Dish concluded.
“The well? No.” He noted that his mention of the well surprised her. She said, “Has he headed north already?”
“Why would he be going north at all if not to look for the well? It’s imperative you tell me what he’s up to.”
He followed Iris’ gaze to Elowen, standing in the kitchen doorway wearing Merryn’s pink sweats.
“Oh, sorry, Dish, I didn’t know I was intruding—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is Elowen, daughter of an old university chum.”
“Chum?”
Elowen’s makeup was especially rushed, making her look like an adolescent clown. She extended her hand as Dish had taught her, and Iris took it, clearly noticing the vibrancy of her skin.
“It’s a pleasure,” Iris said, but her eyes were on Dish.
There was no point in hiding anything from Iris, she would find out on her own soon enough.
“Connor’s gone,” Dish said. “And I may soon be under investigation for his murder, and if not his, then Merryn’s. Or both. Please sit, tea’s almost ready. I’ll give you the abridged version before the lawyer gets here.”
**
Iris took it all in perfect stride, Dish’s story about Merryn and the acorn and Connor finding Elowen in the brook. After all, she’d helped Connor retrieve Dish from the Otherworld once. She seemed confident they could bring Connor back, but she had no idea how. According to Iris, Connor had quit his search for the well years ago, and was going to Lancashire to see something called the “Fairy Holes.”
“It wasn’t the well,” Iris said. “Merryn knew where the well was all along.”
“What do you mean, she knew?” Dish said. None of this version of the story made sense. “How could she know?”
“That’s what Connor told me, and it’s all I know about it. I only got that much after a half dozen beers.”
Dish couldn’t understand why Merryn would lie to him, send him on a wild goose chase. “Merryn said it was her life’s work, finding the well.” Though he had to admit she had plans she never shared, like bringing the Old Blood back to the Five Quarters.
Iris handed Dish his cup of tea, saying, “I gathered from Connor that finding it wasn’t the problem. Opening it was. That part was out of her control.”
“Where is it?” Dish demanded.
“He didn’t share that with me.”
With the lawyer coming any minute, Iris worked on Elowen’s makeup, and Dish replayed in his head what she’d told him. If what she said was true, the location of the well was inconsequential, at least to Connor. Dish’s trip to the Otherworld was all part of some hidden agenda of Merryn’s, one that he knew had everything to do with the making of Angharad, the Child of Death. Merryn and Lyla had a plan, otherwise Lyleth would live her life as Nechtan’s solás, then die and end up right back here where she started. Exiled. This clearly meant that Angharad, the product of their scheme, was necessary to open the well. Without the child, the Old Blood would be exiled here forever. This could only mean that the opening would be soon, at least within the life span of the child. Soon by whose calendar?
Dish looked from Iris to Elowen, realizing they both had said something to him and he’d heard neither.
Iris motioned to Elowen, saying, “Maybe she shouldn’t be wearing Merryn’s clothes when your sister gets here.”
“I suppose not. See what you can do, if you please.”
He went to the kitchen, poured himself a Scotch, then found a place on the porch in the shade. He’d barely taken a sip when a white Fiat slowed and turned onto the gravel drive.
“They’re here,” he called into the house.
He returned to the front room to find Elowen dressed in some of Iris’ clothes. She was now a stunningly beautiful teenager with bizarre fashion sense, wearing Iris’ striped leggings, a plaid mini skirt and a black, long-sleeved tee shirt with a skull on the front fashioned from the repeated words, Judas Priest.
“It’s the only long sleeve I have,” Iris said.
“Did I say anything?”
“I’m just trying to cover up the—the glow. Jesus, does everyone look like this in the Otherworld?”
“That depends,” Dish said.
“Depends on what?”
“If you were there, everyone would look like this including you, so you wouldn’t notice.”
“Is this Connor’s woman?” Elowen asked Dish for what was probably the second time.
He turned to Iris and translated, “She wants to know if you and Connor are together.”
Iris smirked. “It’s on and off. Y’know. He’s pretty messed up, in case you haven’t noticed, Dish.”
“He’s more than ‘messed up’ right now.”
Iris pointed a hairbrush at Elowen. “But she has a plan to bring him back, right?”
Dish looked from Iris to Elowen, then downed the rest of his Scotch and rolled back to the kitchen with Iris trailing him.
When he didn’t reply, she said, “You have no idea how to get him back? Jesus, Dish. Doesn’t she know? She’s one of the magicians, the druids, right?”
The sound of tires crunching gravel came from the front of the h
ouse. The closing of car doors.
“Bloody hell,” Dish said. “Don’t forget what I told you. It would be a nice touch if you’d gotten a message from Connor in the last few days or something.”
A knock came at the door. Iris and Elowen positioned themselves side by side on Merryn’s antique settee. As Dish rolled past Elowen, she touched his arm. “Is she?”
“Is she what? Oh, yes, I would say she is Connor’s woman.”
The look on Elowen’s face was one of utter devastation. She’d seen Connor for less than two minutes; how could this make any difference to her?
“Or, she was, at one time,” he corrected.
Another knock.
“Hugh? The door’s locked.” Bronwyn rattled the latch.
Dish sighed. “Coming!”
He opened the door to see Bronwyn dressed in jeans and a jumper and Celeste standing beside her, wearing a suit of dark navy pinstripe and shoes with spike heels. She carried a valise.
“Good afternoon,” Dish said. “Please.” He rolled aside and motioned for them to come in.
“Lovely day,” Celeste said. She put a manicured hand on his shoulder and squeezed just slightly as she passed, then looked at the two girls waiting in the front room. “My, my. Yes, lovely.” She glanced down at him and gave him a smile.
He started to explain and decided it didn’t matter. Let her think he was some randy pedophile. She’d come to read the will and then she would go. He just wanted to be done with it.
“You’ve met Elowen, I believe,” he said. “This is Iris McCreary, Connor’s girlfriend. She’s just on her way north to meet him in Lancashire. Research for a project of theirs. She popped in to pay her respects.”
“Pleasure,” Bronwyn said, giving Dish a quizzical slice of her eyes. “But I believe we’ve met before? In Malibu?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Iris said. “Still hanging around.”
“Odd that Connor would miss Merryn’s funeral,” Bronwyn said.
“He’s like that,” Iris said. “Doesn’t do funerals. Too emotional. In fact, he sent a message just a day ago, reminding me to extend his heartfelt condolences to all of you.”
Celeste made a point of taking each girl by the hand, holding Elowen’s for longer than Dish thought proper. Perhaps she was Italian, the touchy-feely sort.
“Tea?” he asked as Elowen brought in the tea tray. She’d arranged the biscuits with flowers set in amongst them.
“Lovely,” Celeste said.
He nodded at Elowen, the cue they had established to indicate she was to pour. She was getting rather good at it.
“Let’s get to work, shall we?” Celeste opened her valise and withdrew a folder.
“Your friends will stay?” Bronwyn nodded toward the two girls.
“Oh,” Dish said. “Ladies, perhaps you can take a short walk?”
“No problem.” Iris took Elowen by the elbow and led her out the front door.
When they had gone, Bronwyn said, “Really, Hugh. You do like to start the rumors, don’t you?”
“I’ve done nothing of the kind—”
Celeste cleared her throat and began reading the will.
Teacups clinked in saucers until, pages of legalese later, she’d reached what sounded like the end. She read more slowly, “The cottage and farm property known as ‘Grambla’ will be held by Hugh Cavendish as sole owner. All possessions therein shall be divided only after Hugh has taken full inventory and upon his sole discretion. All of my liquid assets, savings, bonds, and life insurance policy shall go to Bronwyn Buckram, nee Cavendish, who shall defer to Hugh in matters relating to my personal items.”
“The farm? To Hugh?” Bronwyn sat rigidly, her cup and saucer beginning to tremble. “But he doesn’t even live in England.”
“Now Bronwyn,” Dish said. “There’s no use kicking up a fuss over something so out of our control.”
“Out of my control, you mean. Who was it who spent all these years caring for Merryn? Which of us ran off to Malibu to get away from family entanglements?”
“Perhaps you two will let me finish,” Celeste said. “Mr. Jory Peavey shall be retained as farm hand until he chooses to retire. To Mr. Connor Quinn, I leave my books.”
Everyone sat in expectant silence. Then Bronwyn said, “Peavey? How will we pay him? And Connor Quinn?”
“He’s been very close to her,” Dish said. “Besides, her books are worth nothing.”
“Are you intimating that all I’m after are things of worth? How could you, Hugh!”
“I mean nothing of the sort. I’ll go through her belongings and give you a spreadsheet, if you like,” he said. “Choose some keepsakes.”
“Keepsakes.” She shoved her teacup at him on her way to the door. “I doubt Merryn would approve of the company you’re keeping in her cottage.”
The door slammed before he could argue.
Celeste said, “She’ll come round. I’ve known Wyn for many years.”
“Then would you agree this behavior is not like her?” Dish asked. “She can be hard-nosed about things, but I’ve never seen her react to anything like this.”
“We all react differently to loss.”
Dish snorted a laugh. “I just can’t believe any of this. Really. Will you please tell my sister that I’d be glad to offer her any of Merryn’s lovelies here to patch things up? But there’s a reason she’s left me the farm. And I can’t explain it right now. Can you do that for me, Ms. Arundell?”
“It’s Celeste. And of course, I will let her know. She’ll calm down soon enough.” Celeste took a last sip of her tea. Her blonde hair was knotted behind her head exposing high cheekbones, a long elegant neck, and skin almost as perfect as Elowen’s. For a moment, Dish was reminded of Ava. A pang of regret caught him off guard.
“Might I offer a suggestion?” Celeste’s lovely hand with perfect red nails settled on top of his, which rested on the arm of his wheelchair.
“Please do.”
“As you work through Merryn’s treasures, include Bronwyn in the chores. Nothing heals like working shoulder to shoulder.”
With a pat of his hand, Celeste stood, reached into her valise, and withdrew a card. She handed it to Dish saying, “Perhaps we can talk over dinner sometime soon?”
“Of course.” He started for the door to see her out, but she stopped him.
“I can find my way.”
**
Iris erupted into a fit of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Dish said. “She left her card, nothing more.”
“And asked you to dinner.” Iris had been listening from the front porch, it appeared. “She’s hitting on you, Dish. You haven’t lost it.”
“I’m in a sodding wheelchair for Christ's sake.”
“Some paralyzed guys can still—you know—handle women. Look at Stephen Hawking.”
“I won’t have this discussion with you, Iris.”
“Involuntary muscles—”
“You’re unhinged, now let’s get to work.”
They started in Merryn’s bedroom. Stacks of books were piled on the closet floor, and Iris pulled boxes from under the bed. Dish worked through these as quickly as possible. Several hats covered a scrapbook and some trinkets of unknown origin, a letter opener, a magnifying glass, an empty bottle of eye drops, several photos of Bronwyn and Dish as children… This was the third such box they’d found.
He said, “How is this going to help get Connor back? You said yourself that finding the well won’t help us open it. I say we keep searching the brook.”
“You said Elowen has been there every day, morning and evening,” Iris said. “You have no control over that. Only Angharad does.”
The drawing room became an assembly line. They sorted photos of standing stones, ancient churches, barrows and any other monument that might remotely be connected. If arranged properly, Merryn aged from one photo to the next. And there was Lyla Bendbow posing beside stone inscriptions, one of which Dish recognized as the o
ldest of the Aberlemno stones. It clearly depicted two trees that grew from either side of a pool, one lit by the sun, the other by the moon. A serpent and a mirror resided one in this world, one in the other. Did Merryn and Lyla know what this meant? Was this part of finding their memories?
It was late.
Iris and Elowen cleaned up from their hasty supper while Dish gazed over the lawn of photos that covered the hospital bed. He organized them in his mind, first by locale, then by era. There was no pattern. The West Kennet long barrow and Avebury stones to the Hurlers and the Merry Maidens. Sheila-na-gigs and green men, hunky punks and church grims, peeking from the cornices of ancient churches and graveyards. All symbols of the otherworld brought across by the Old Blood upon their exile. What was it Merryn wanted him to find? Or what did she not want him to find?
Exhaustion finally claimed all three of them. When Dish finally slept, he dreamed of Lyleth. Or maybe it wasn’t Lyl. The woman was blond, and their lovemaking was desperate. Who was she? Ava? A snake wrapped around his leg and bit him on the thigh. He cried out, and the woman called to the snake, and it slithered from Dish up the woman’s arm to her neck. It wasn’t Lyleth. Nor was it Ava. Her face was covered with a veil of blood red silk, and her nails were red.
He startled awake. His hand was numb and pricked with pins and needles as the blood flow returned. He’d fallen asleep on the sofa.
A devastating loneliness overwhelmed him. With Merryn’s death, Dish’s destruction was complete. Everyone he loved had fled and left him to fade away into death, to make his way back to the Five Quarters as everyone does. His destiny had been played out. He’d fathered a child as Lyleth and Merryn had planned he would. And if Connor did not return, Dish might pay for that as well, because sooner or later, the world would know he was gone. There had to be a way to bring Connor back.
Chapter 16
Connor drew a few curious glances from the customers in the common room, but he figured it was due to the magical photograph more than his appearance. He ignored them. He could think of nothing else but the bowl of lamb stew that sat before him. His manners gave way to starvation, and he ceased waiting for Lyleth, who sat at the next table deep in conversation with this Lord Fiach. It became increasingly clear that they knew each other, and it wasn’t exactly a friendship from what Connor could tell.