Meryn was standing in the shelter of the trees looking out towards the stone. The decision to come here had been made high in the Andes where the air was thin and the barriers between the planes were paper fine. He stared round and nodded with satisfaction. He had been right to come to Scotland now. The high peaks in the distance were covered in a fresh layer of snow, blinding white against the intense azure of the sky, and the air crackled with cold energy. Thoughtfully he waited, his eyes on the serpent picked out in glittering frost amongst the other engravings on the face of the slab. Broichan was near. He could feel the coiled energy, the intelligence, the power of the rage and frustration and the absolute danger of the man.
He waited unmoving, drawing a cloak of darkness around him, letting the silence of the mountains sink into his very bones. Near him a squirrel sat stripping the scales from a pine cone oblivious of the man standing unmoving in the shadows of the trees. Suddenly it sat up. It remained completely still for a second, then dropping the cone it raced up into the top branches with a sharp cough of alarm, leaving a flurry of tiny tracks and the fluffed up snow where its tail had for a moment flicked along the ground. Meryn tensed. He could feel him closer now. Broichan knew he was there. He could sense the man’s suspicion, feel the strength of his vigilance and the gathering fury of his displeasure.
Imperceptibly he shifted his gaze towards the mirror on the stone. Was that the key to Brid’s dexterity with time?
There was a distant rumble of thunder and he frowned. The sky was cloudless. Then he understood. Broichan had sent a warning shot across his bows as his attention wavered. He smiled quietly to himself as he walked out of the trees and onto the rocky plateau to stand near the stone. ‘One to you, my friend,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I must learn not to look away. You are not to be trusted, not for one minute.’
Meryn …
He stiffened. The voice came from far away, but it was not from the past, it was from home. Someone needed him in Wales. Liza.
Lying in bed savouring the warmth under the blankets Liza stretched and smiled to herself. It would be frosty outside and the air would be fresh and cold and rich as milk. In a minute she would get up and have a bath and dress, then she would make breakfast for herself and Jane. She reached for the little clock by her bed and squinted at it. It had gone ten, but after the long two-way drive yesterday and the incredibly late night she was prepared to treat herself to a lie-in. She snuggled down again, her eyes on the bright blue of the sky above the trees outside. Phil had got up hours ago, no doubt, and by now would be ensconced in his studio. She had been careful not to wake him when she at last climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning, but he must have realised how late it was when she came in.
He would have taken Beth to play school before he started work. His job this week – they took turns. After he had collected her at lunchtime he would probably stay in the studio till dark, and it would be their turn to look after her while they planned what to do next. She closed her eyes to focus better on what they should do. Adam was obviously under some sort of spell. He had acted like a man bewitched – not at all his usual rational self – and spells could be broken.
Ten minutes later she realised that she could not lie there another second. All her tension and worry had returned. Getting up, she ran a bath; the water would soak away some of her exhaustion which, now she had left her bed, returned in full measure.
It was not until she had run downstairs to the kitchen and opened the back door that she realised her car had gone from the yard. She stared for a moment, then she turned back inside and ran back upstairs.
‘Jane?’ She knocked on the spare room door and then threw it open. Jane’s clothes, her bag, her shoes, had all gone.
Phil was standing in front of his easel lost in thought when she burst into his studio. Beside him the cooker timer, set to remind him to leave to fetch Beth home from school, ticked loudly on his bench.
He turned to her thoughtfully, and it was a moment before he focused and registered her question. ‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘She’s gone. She’s taken my car, her things, everything.’
‘She’s probably gone home then.’
‘She can’t have. Phil, I saw her last night – no, it was this morning. Only a few hours ago. We talked. She can’t go back to Adam, not yet.’
Phil walked over and put his arms around her. ‘What is it? What happened yesterday? I thought it couldn’t be good if you’d come straight back.’
She told him and he listened without interruption. Only when she had finished did he ask, ‘Did you tell Jane all this?’
She nodded.
He shook his head. ‘She shouldn’t have gone back to him. Perhaps she hasn’t. Are you sure she didn’t leave a note?’
She hadn’t looked. When she found it, all it said was: I’ll leave the car at the station. Sorry. Jane. It wasn’t until ten o’clock that night that she heard from Jane again. She was already in bed when the phone rang and, grabbing her dressing gown, she ran downstairs to the cold kitchen. Beth had long been asleep. There was no sign of Phil. He must still be out in the studio.
‘I’m sorry I ran away.’ She could hear from her voice that Jane had been crying. ‘I lay awake for hours thinking about what you’d told me, then I realised I was never going to fall asleep so I just got up and left. I wanted to talk to him.’ There was a long pause.
‘What is it, Janie? What’s happened?’
‘I thought if I caught him at the surgery I could speak to him without the risk of her being there. I thought I could persuade him to see sense. But it wasn’t any good. He wouldn’t listen. He was rude to me in front of the receptionist. He walked out and drove home and when I got here he was already upstairs, and the door is locked. I wish I hadn’t come.’
‘Oh, Janie, I’m so sorry.’ Liza shivered. She moved to the full length of the phone cord which just allowed her to switch on the lamp on the dresser. Outside it was raining. She could hear the spatter of raindrops against the window.
‘He’s here. Upstairs. With her.’ Jane let out a small sob. ‘Liza, he doesn’t want me any more.’
‘Come back, Janie. Come back here. We want you.’ The warmth in Liza’s voice was genuine. ‘Listen, don’t stay there.’ She had been going to say that it wasn’t safe, but she bit back the words. What was the point in frightening Jane further?
‘I’ll come in the morning, maybe …’
‘Jane, you must.’
‘I can’t just leave without trying again.’ Her voice faded briefly, as though she had turned away from the receiver. ‘Hold on. I can hear footsteps. I think he’s coming downstairs. I’ll call you back tomorrow.’
‘Jane, don’t hang up –’
But it was too late. The phone had been slammed down.
Liza stood for a moment looking at the receiver in her own hand, then slowly she replaced it on the rest. She was trying to picture the scene at the far end of the line.
‘Adam.’ Jane smiled in relief. ‘Are you all right?’
He stared at her in silence for a full minute and she realised suddenly that he wasn’t focusing. His gaze was going straight through her as though she weren’t there.
‘Adam?’ she repeated, more timidly this time. ‘Can you hear me?’
He looked as though he were asleep.
‘Adam?’ Cautiously she stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. ‘Adam, darling, can you hear me?’
She glanced behind him at the door. The house was very quiet. All she could hear was the roar of the wind in the branches of the pear tree outside the window. ‘Adam, let’s go into the kitchen. It’s warmer in there.’
He followed her obediently and quietly she shut the door and turned the key. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath.
‘There. Why not sit down while I put the kettle on?’ She busied herself at the tap, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was still gazing into space, his actions those of a sleepwalker.
Having switched on the kettle she sat down at the kitchen table next to him and took his hand. It was ice cold. Chafing it gently she smiled at him. ‘Perhaps we should put on the fire next door? It’s cold enough to snow, you know. There was a frost up at the farm last night.’ She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have mentioned the farm. But perhaps if she talked about Liza’s visit it would trigger some sort of reaction in him. ‘Adam, Liza was very upset by what happened here last night.’
He said nothing. His eyes were still fixed on the middle distance.
‘It was dreadful to make her drive all the way back to Wales. She was exhausted.’
He was listening, she realised suddenly. His eyes had re-focused and his attention had sharpened. She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Adam, we have to talk about what’s happened. I’m not sure I understand –’ She broke off as he stood up abruptly, pushing the chair over onto the floor behind him.
‘Brid?’ He was looking at the door.
Jane went white. She looked at the door too. The handle was moving gently up and down.
‘Adam, don’t let her in. You have to talk to me.’ She caught at his hand but he pushed it away.
‘Brid? Is that you?’ Striding quickly across the room he unlocked the door and pulled it open. The hallway was empty.
Jane moved behind the table. ‘Is it her?’
Adam peered up the stairs.
‘Don’t go, Adam.’ She was afraid. ‘Don’t go up there.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I have to, Jane. If you don’t like it, you go.’
‘But this is my home, Adam.’ Her fear changed at last to anger. ‘I’m not going to leave! I’ve been hurt too. I’ve lost a son too. You’re not alone. But I face up to it. I’m coping with reality, not losing myself in a web of fantasy and perversion! If anyone is going, it should be you. You’re mad! Go on, get out!’ She was crying now, her voice almost hoarse from shouting.
Adam turned away from her and walked out into the hall. ‘Do what you like.’ His voice had lost its power suddenly. Slowly, he began to climb the stairs.
Jane spent the night locked in the kitchen. The next morning she waited until she heard Adam stirring, then she went and stood behind the door, her hand on the key. He was bound to come down for breakfast. When he did so she would let him in, slam the door shut behind him and lock it.
But he didn’t come in. She heard his footsteps on the stairs; they moved across the hall to the front door. She heard it open, felt the draught sweep in under the kitchen door around her feet, and then she heard it bang again. Moments later she heard the distant sound of the car engine in the drive.
She stood where she was, holding her breath, listening. The house was totally silent.
It was half an hour before she plucked up the courage to look out into the hall. It was dark. The dull wet morning allowed very little light to seep through the small window beside the front entrance and the sitting room and study doors were closed. Her heart was thundering in her ears as she tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and looked up. Her spurt of anger the night before had been short-lived. It had been replaced by self-pity, by fear and by indignation in quick succession as she huddled at the table in the cold room, warming herself now and again by turning on the electric cooker and leaving the oven door open, an action which gave her a perverse pleasure in that she knew how furious Adam would be if he learned of such a blatant waste of money and heat.
One by one she pushed open the ground floor doors and peered into each room in turn. All were empty. Then at last she plucked up courage to climb the stairs.
It was the first time she had been in Calum’s room for many weeks. Once a month she would go in there to dust and vacuum, to sit on his bed and have a little cry, to touch his things and try to make the resolution to do something about it all, to resist making it into a shrine; then she would blow her nose and stand up and go out and close the door, thankfully to try and put it out of her mind for a while longer. She stood for a moment, looking round. No one had been in there, she was sure. Everything was exactly as it had been. There was no one else to go in there, apart from Adam. Mrs Freeling had left after the murder, too scared, she said, to stay in the house, and they had never had the heart to replace her. And now there was no need. With just her and Adam there was very little to do in the way of housework and she could get through what there was in no time at all.
She went into their bedroom next – the room she now slept in alone. It was empty, the beds neatly made. Her eyes went automatically to the bedside table and suddenly she froze. The broken amulet which she had put defiantly back in its place had gone.
She knew it didn’t work any more; she knew there was no point in it, but it was all she had to cling to. Frantically she ran to the table and stared down between the two beds. Kneeling, she looked under the bed covers, beneath the pillows and then over the rest of the room. There was no sign of it anywhere.
‘Oh, please God, let it be here!’ She looked again, throwing open drawers and cupboards, then spread her search wider to take in the bathroom and Calum’s room, where she had not looked inside the cupboards for months. In her panic she forgot to be sad, throwing football boots and a cricket bat out onto the carpet as she rummaged in the depths. But it was no use. Only then, at last, did she pluck up courage to go to the door of the spare room and rest her ear against the wood, listening. Inside there was total silence. Taking a deep breath she put her hand on the handle and turned it.
The room was in chaos. The bed was unmade and frowsty, the sheets strewn across the floor. A pile of Adam’s unwashed clothes lay spilling from a chair and there were streaks of dried blood upon the pillow.
Jane felt sick. There was a feral smell in the air which made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but there was no sign of Brid or of any cat.
Then she saw the amulet. It was lying on the floor, half covered by the trailing sheet. Stooping, she reached for it with a sigh of relief, then she gasped with horror. It had been snapped and twisted again beyond recognition, the rest of the branches broken off, the small coloured enamels crushed as if with a hammer. The crystal had gone. Carefully she gathered up all the broken pieces and looked down at them through a haze of tears. What use would it be to her now? Turning, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Carrying it through to her own bedroom she sat down on the bed and laid the pieces on the clean fresh bedspread. The fury with which they had been torn apart was clear in every twisted fragment. ‘Oh Adam,’ she found herself sobbing the words out loud. ‘What have you let her do to you?’
It was a long time before she pulled herself together and stood up. Half an hour later, she was in the waiting room at the surgery.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Craig.’ The face of Doreen Chambers, the new receptionist, was a picture of anxiety and embarrassment. ‘Dr Craig says he is too busy to see you.’
They both glanced round at the empty room. The last patient had walked out of the door minutes before.
‘I see.’ Jane straightened her shoulders. ‘Doreen, would you be so kind as to step into the back office for a moment. I should hate you to get into trouble.’ She smiled, a small brittle lift of the mouth which left Doreen even more nervous.
‘I shouldn’t, Mrs Craig.’
‘I think you should, if you value your job.’ Jane was amazed at the strength she was finding to stand up to the woman. In the past the receptionist staff at the practice had filled her with terror.
For a moment Doreen hesitated, then with a little shrug she went through to the back office, shutting the door behind her.
Jane walked to Adam’s door and opened it without ceremony. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He was standing behind his desk shuffling papers into his briefcase. Startled, he looked up at her and for a moment her resolve wavered. His face was haggard and ill, his eyes red with lack of sleep.
‘I am not prepared to be made a fool of in my own house.’ She closed the door behind her, aware that Doreen would have reappeared from the office and be standing at the receptionist’s counter, listening. ‘If you want to live with another woman, I suggest you find a real one.’ Her voice dropped to a hiss. ‘Or go to Scotland and live with Brid there, in her mud hut or stone circle or wherever she lives when she’s at home, but don’t ever,’ she paused, taking a deep breath, ‘don’t ever bring her back to our house again.’
‘I don’t bring her, Janie.’ His voice was weary. He dropped the briefcase on the desk and throwing himself down into his chair he closed his eyes with exhaustion. ‘I have never invited her there. She comes.’
‘Then tell her to go.’
‘Do you think I haven’t tried?’
‘You got rid of her before.’
‘By running away. Do you want me to do that again? I can’t get away from her, Jane. You know that as well as I do. Somehow she is able to follow me. She came to Wales, remember? She found us in St Albans. She would find me anywhere.’
‘She doesn’t come here.’
‘Because she knows I am working here. She respects the fact that I am a doctor. She knows I would be angry if she came between me and my work.’
‘But you’re not angry when she comes between you and your wife!’
‘That’s different.’
‘How, pray?’ Her voice was icy.
He looked up and she saw naked despair in his eyes. ‘Because of Calum. Calum is coming between us, Jane. I don’t know why. I don’t want it to happen, but it is. You and I. We shouldn’t still be alive. You stand there, and you remind me of him –’ He put his hands over his face and to her dismay she saw tears trickling from between his fingers.
Speechless, she just stared at him, then slowly she stepped back towards the door. ‘Does it never occur to you that I might be broken-hearted and lonely too?’
He shrugged. ‘You seem to be able to cope.’
‘Seem, Adam. You forget that I have lost two of you. Calum is dead because of an accident. He did not choose to go. You have made that choice. And what is more,’ she hesitated, almost afraid to say the words, ‘you seem to be enjoying a wonderful relationship with the woman who killed your son.’
There was a long silence. It was Adam’s turn to stare at her in shocked disbelief. ‘Don’t say that,’ he choked at last. ‘Don’t say such a thing. How low can you stoop! How can you, Jane!’
‘Easily if it’s true. Has it never occurred to you who the mysterious woman was who stepped out in front of the car – the woman who disappeared and was never traced?’
‘It was not Brid!’ His voice was harsh with passion.
‘No?’ She was fighting tears. ‘Well there’s no point in asking her, is there? No doubt, amongst all her other talents, she is a first-class liar. Adam, how can you defend her? You know she’s a murderess!’
‘We don’t know!’ He was crying openly. ‘With me she is gentle and loving and sweet. She knows how to please a man. She can soothe me, and make my headaches better, she can relax me and she listens when I talk.’
‘And I do none of that?’ The pain in her voice was palpable. ‘Adam, this is me, Jane. Remember?’ She stared at him for a long minute. ‘Obviously not. Obviously the years I have given to you were a complete waste when you would rather I had not been there.’
‘No, Jane, please, don’t say that.’ He focused on her suddenly. ‘I do love you, Janie.’
‘But clearly not enough.’ Her voice was full of hurt. ‘I just ask you one thing, Adam, please. Don’t do it in our house. Ask her to go somewhere else to seduce you, not my home.’
She walked out blindly into the reception area. She did not even see Doreen as she found her way outside. Only when she reached her car did she allow her pride to waver. It was a long time before she put the key in the ignition and pulled out of the car park.
From the window of his consulting room Adam watched her go.
‘Leave him, Jane.’ Liza, standing by the phone in her kitchen, was staring out at the pouring rain. ‘Please, just leave him. Come here.’ She was biting her nail as she talked, aware that every part of her body was tense with anxiety. ‘Look, it doesn’t have to be forever, just while he is under this spell. For your own sake, Jane.’
But it was no use as she knew it wouldn’t be. She pictured Jane immured in that dark, soulless house, locking herself in her lonely bedroom at night whilst Adam frolicked with – with what? A succubus? A ghost? A witch?
‘Not Jane again?’ Phil walked in from the studio and shook the rain from his shoulders like a dog shaking its coat to find her standing, lost in thought, by the phone. ‘She caused enough trouble, leaving your car in Newport! I don’t know why you keep ringing her. She’s a grown woman. She has to make her own decisions. Perhaps she’s a masochist. She likes being humiliated by that bastard.’ He ran the tap and washed his hands. ‘Where’s Beth?’
‘Playing next door.’ Liza shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’s not safe for her there, Phil. Brid is dangerous. She can kill.’
The door opened and Beth appeared, pushing a doll’s pram in which she had tucked a small toy rabbit. Liza bent and picked the little girl up, giving her a huge kiss. ‘You’d think she’d want to be here. To see Beth.’
‘Liza.’ Phil sat down at the table and pulled the pile of unopened post towards him. The small red post van winding up the hills did not get to the farm until nearly lunchtime. ‘Liza, has it ever crossed your mind that we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves? Remember when that cat followed them here? It was never seen or heard of again once they had gone back to St Albans. We don’t want to put ourselves, or,’ he hesitated and reached over to put a gentle hand on the back of the little girl’s hair for a minute, ‘little Beth here at risk.’
Liza met his gaze over the child’s head. ‘You don’t think she’d hurt Beth!’
He shrugged. ‘Just give the phone a rest, love. Jane knows where we are. She knows there is always a bed for her if she wants one and she knows our number so she can call us if she’s in trouble. Leave it at that, all right?’ He put his arm round his wife’s shoulder and gave them both a bear hug which made Beth shriek with delight.
It was two days later that Liza decided to take the longer route back from shopping in Hay. She had loaded the car with supplies, called in at one of the book shops to have a quick look at her favourite corner, bought two books she couldn’t resist, hidden them under her shopping, knowing how Phil would tease her that the house would collapse if she bought any more, bought some wine and picked up the papers from Grants, then slotting Beth back into the car she set off up over the hill. The road, climbing out of the woods and fields, led after a few miles out onto the mountain, where the sky swooped low over the soft green and grey of rocks and grass, dotted with grazing ponies and sheep. At the end of the narrow track which led to Meryn’s cottage she stopped the car and thought for a minute.
‘Go home.’ Beth put a small hand on Liza’s arm. ‘Go home, Granny Liza.’
Liza smiled. ‘In a minute. I just want to see if Meryn has come home.’ She wasn’t sure why she had this strange feeling that she should turn up the track. There was no sign of smoke from the chimneys out of sight behind the stand of pine trees, no fresh tyre-marks on the grass, but suddenly she had an overwhelming urge to see. Climbing out of the car she opened the heavy old gate and climbing back in she turned up the drive.
The door was open and in one of the windows she could see a huge pot of geraniums. Meryn was writing at the old pine table in the centre of the room when she and Beth put their heads round the door.
‘So, this is the little one.’ He kissed Liza and then squatted down to take Beth’s small hand in his own huge one.
‘You know what happened to Julie and Calum?’ Liza suddenly found she had tears in her eyes.
‘I know.’ He stood up again and reaching into a bowl of fruit he took a shiny red apple and gave it to the child, then he led Liza to the settle by the fire.
‘Where have you been?’ Liza looked up at him. His face was even browner than she remembered, and his brilliant blue eyes were brighter than ever. She found herself wondering as she did every time she saw him how old he was, and she decided as she always did that he could be anything between fifty and a hundred. He squatted down on the stool before the fire and reaching out threw on a couple of logs. Beth, chewing on her apple, came to stand just behind him. He did not turn, treating her like a small animal which must overcome its shyness in its own time before friendship and trust can be established.
He ignored Liza’s second question, concentrating instead on the first. ‘There is a reason these things happen, Liza.’ He was staring into the fire. ‘It may be hard to bear, harder to understand, but you must not be sad forever. You will see them again. You know that.’
With a sniff Liza nodded. ‘I suppose I do.’
He turned and fixed her with his intense gaze. ‘Suppose?’
‘It’s difficult. I still miss her so much.’
‘Be strong, Liza.’ He sounded very stern. ‘Now, what have you done about the woman, Brid?’
‘You think she is a woman, then?’
‘Oh yes, she’s a woman.’ He gave a grave smile.
‘She broke the amulet. Or Adam did. Jane has the pieces, but she doesn’t think it works any more.’
‘Then it doesn’t work. A talisman has only as much power as it is given. You must make her another.’
‘Me?’
He nodded. ‘Jane doesn’t understand what we are dealing with here the way you do. Brid is a powerful, highly trained practitioner of the black arts. They were not black when she learned them, but her perceptions have been blunted and changed by her lust and her fear of the man who pursues her, and she has lost her judgement and honesty. You have to fight her with her own weapons or she will win.’
‘What do I do? Phil is frightened she will turn her attention here.’ She nodded towards the little girl who was still standing behind him, her eyes fixed on his face.
Meryn reached out a gentle hand to the child. She stepped forward into the circle of his arm and leaned against him trustingly, sucking her thumb.
Meryn nodded thoughtfully. ‘He is right to be worried, but I think at the moment there is no need for that worry to be for Beth. Adam has rejected the child, you say? Then she is no danger to Brid. She is not a distraction or a rival for his affections. You will monitor the situation, but I feel at the moment there is nothing to fear.’ He looked up at Beth and she returned his smile with a trusting kiss before offering him a bite of her apple.
‘So. Should I make a new amulet for Jane, and take it to her?’ Liza was concentrating on what he was saying, trying to put out of her mind the thought that Julie and Calum had spent their honeymoon in this house – two weeks out of their so-short lives together. ‘How?’
He nodded. ‘Take rowan wood, bind it into a cross with red thread and imbue it with protection and power. It is a symbol Brid will recognise and respect.’
‘How do I imbue it with power?’ Liza shook her head.
He laughed out loud. ‘You are wondering with a part of your mind if the old man has finally gone doolally! Are we talking magic and spells? Is he wizard or witch or lunatic?’
‘You know I’m not thinking that.’ Liza was indignant. ‘I wouldn’t have come to you for help if I’d wondered that. I just wonder if I can do it. I have no training in these things. I visualise Brid as having learned it all from some great occultist, like a Dennis Wheatley villain. She can turn herself into a cat, Meryn!’
He fixed his gaze on her again unsurprised. ‘But there is still no reason to be afraid. Calm, strength and a belief in the power of protection is all that is needed. If Jane is a Christian then her protection will come from Christ. But you will help it. I will tell you what to do.’
She waited until Phil was asleep and snoring before checking on Beth and then creeping downstairs and pulling on her wellington boots which were waiting by the back door. There was a part of her which was embarrassed and sceptical. Another part was afraid. Another felt enormously excited and empowered.
She had located the tree in daylight. It stood a little apart from the others, behind the orchard out in the field above the edge of the drop to the nant which raced over the rocks and through the valley towards the meadows which bordered the Wye in the distance. In the silence she could hear the water as it poured into the waterfalls and cascades down in the damp mossy shadows beneath the trees. Up here, in the open, the moonlight was like day. A white frost had already settled over the grass.
Pushing her hands deep into her pockets she felt for her knife. It was one of her grandmother’s silver fruit knives, small and brilliantly polished and wickedly sharp and pointed. The perfect knife for performing a magical act. Quietly she pushed open the orchard gate and let herself in under the huge old apple trees, glancing nervously into the black moonshadows. It hadn’t occurred to her before that Brid might sense what she was doing, but now, in the dark, in the silence of the night she could feel a small but persistent worm of fear somewhere deep inside her. She glanced behind her at the house. It was in total darkness. Phil had been painting late and had come in, opened himself a can of tomato soup, heated it, drunk it from a mug and gone to bed all within the span of ten minutes. She didn’t mind. She knew what it was like when the creative urge was upon one. She resented stopping for a single moment when she was painting, and used to go on for hours after she was too tired almost to hold the brush. She frowned. It was a long time since she had painted anything. Bringing up a small child had seen to that.
Turning her back on the house she looked into the trees again. The night was so still she could have heard a leaf drop, but even the sounds of nature seemed to have died away. There was no breath of wind, no snap of breaking twigs down in the valley as a small animal made its way along the tracks in the undergrowth, no distant hoot of a hunting owl.
Silently she pulled the gate closed behind her and began to make her way through the orchard. Every sense was alert. She could feel the frost as it crisped the moss on the north side of the tree trunks, she could smell the lichen as it combined with the ice crystals, she could hear the tinkling snap of the frozen blades of grass beneath her feet.
Six counties away, in Hertfordshire, Brid, asleep in the curve of Adam’s arm, stirred, sensing the moonlight outside the window.
Forcing her fear to the back of her mind Liza walked on steadily, her eyes searching the shadows, alert for any sound. None came. She reached the gate at the far end of the orchard and began to climb over it, feeling the soles of her rubber boots slip on the icy rungs. Jumping into the field she stopped and held her breath. It was empty as far as the eye could see, the sheep already taken down to the shelter of the lower meadows, out of the mountain winds. She could see the rowan tree now, standing on its own, a small graceful shape in the moonlight, the thin branches casting a network of webbed shadow over the pale ground.
‘Ask permission,’ Meryn had said. ‘Explain why you need her help. Make the cutting of the twigs a sacred act.’
Swallowing, she walked across the grass, feeling very exposed without the shelter of the orchard. Out here, on the hillside, she could be seen from fifty miles away across the valley, a tiny dark speck in her green jacket on the frost-white hillside. Behind her a trail of dark footprints marked her passing. In front the ground was sparkling. She glanced up at the moon. It hung low over the hill in front of her, every hill and valley on its surface seemingly visible to the naked eye. She could feel its power.
Ten feet from the tree she stopped. She groped in her pocket for the knife and drew it out. The blade flashed in the moonlight and she thought she felt the tree flinch. ‘Explain,’ Meryn had said. ‘Explain why you want her strength and protection, and ask. If you snap a branch or a twig out of malice or ignorance or even necessity, the tree goes into shock. She withdraws her essence. You want her to allow you to take some of her strength, so you must explain and ask permission. And thank her afterwards.’
Liza stood looking at the tree. She bit her lip, ignoring the sudden treacherous whisper of twentieth-century logic and cynicism which had re-emerged to ask her what she thought she was doing outside at midnight under the full moon talking to a tree.
‘Please,’ she pushed away her doubts and moved a few steps closer. ‘Please, I need two of your small twigs to make a cross. It’s to give protection to my friend. I don’t want to hurt you. I need your life force and your strength.’ Her voice sounded very thin in the silence of the night. She paused, wondering how she would know if the tree had agreed.
‘Please, may I come and take the wood?’ She stepped closer, within touching distance now of some of the branches.
There was no response.
Clutching the knife, she became acutely aware that the blade was glittering in the moonlight like a surgeon’s scalpel. ‘It won’t hurt. It’s very sharp. Please, can I have a sign?’ Meryn hadn’t told her to say that, but it seemed right, somehow.
She waited, staring up into the branches.
From the edge of the wood a ghostly shape detached itself from amongst the trees and swooped low across the field towards her. She watched, holding her breath. Part of her was aware that it was a barn owl, but in the deep, inner recesses of her mind, which understood the buried mythic traditions of the soul that are beyond rationality, she knew that this was a sign. The owl settled on the rowan tree and sat looking down at her. It didn’t seem afraid. For a moment she didn’t dare move, afraid of scaring it away, then slowly she raised the knife. Taking the tip of the branch in her cold fingers she cut two small twigs from it. Slipping the knife into her pocket she groped for the red thread which she had cut earlier from a skein of old embroidery silk inherited, like the knife, from her grandmother. It was difficult to knot the silk, her fingers were numb with cold and she couldn’t see properly for all the brightness of the moonlight, but she managed it at last and held up the small cross, aware that the owl was still there, watching her with detached interest and absolutely no fear. ‘Thank you,’ she said out loud. ‘This is to protect and bless my friend Jane, giving her your strength and your love and your safety.’ She held it out towards the owl. It didn’t move.
Not quite sure what to do next, she reached up and touched the tree. ‘I’m grateful,’ she said softly. ‘Can I come and talk to you again in daylight?’ There was no response, and slowly she turned away.
‘I don’t believe I said that!’ The cynical mutter under her breath escaped in spite of herself. Behind her the owl took off on silent wings and skimmed across the field and down the valley. When she turned again, on the edge of the orchard, to look back towards the rowan tree, there was no sign of the bird.
Slipping the cross into her pocket she headed for the gate and the shadow of the apple trees, which were dark after the brilliance of the frosty fields. Suddenly, she felt confident again.
Brid sat up. The curtains were only half drawn and she could see the moon above the dark roof of the house across the road. She frowned. Something had awakened her. There was a feeling of danger in the air – a shiver on the surface of the night. She looked down at Adam. He groaned and turned away, sensing the moonlight behind his closed eyelids and burying his face in the pillow. Slipping from the bed she walked across to the window and stood looking out, her long dark hair clinging round her naked shoulders. She was listening.
Her hand on the cross, Liza walked through the sleeping apple trees, hearing the frost crunch beneath her boots. She was careless now, her attention fixed on the house and the warmth of the kitchen waiting for her. She didn’t notice the cat’s eyes, staring at her from the shadows, or hear the stealthy tread of its paws.
‘Brid, come back to bed.’
Adam’s voice, heavy with sleep, reached her as she flexed her claws. She glanced over her shoulder, confused, already sensing the raw power, as yet undirected, coming from the woman’s pocket. Spirit of rowan is red and lively; normally she counted it her ally. She could fight it, but already she was feeling uncentred, pulled in two directions, losing focus. In a moment she was gone from the moonlit orchard and back in the bedroom of a quiet, tree-lined city street. Around her the moonlight sang in the darkness and Adam raised himself on his elbow. ‘Brid? Come back to bed. You’ll catch cold over there. Why have you opened the window?’ He sounded querulous and old. For a moment she glanced back over her shoulder towards the ice-bright orchard, then with a shrug she slipped in between the sheets, hearing Adam gasp with pleasure as she pressed her cold body against his warm flesh.
By the gate Liza stopped and looked round. For a fraction of a second she had sensed the movement in the shadows, smelled the feral breath of the hunting cat, and she clutched the cross more tightly and brought it to her breast. ‘Go away, Brid,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘There is no room for you here. Go back to where you came from.’
There was no reply. In Adam’s bed Brid flexed her fingers against his chest and he winced as a fine line of blood welled up on the spot above his heart.
‘Bitch!’ He caught her hand.
She gave a quiet, throaty laugh. She would deal with the woman later.