Beltane Read online

  He was crap at this. He was completely and totally unprepared to take on Maeve. He’d proved that spectacularly in October. What the hell did he think he was doing taking another shot at her?

  Pushing his aching legs to maintain their pace, he ran his hand over his wet face. He knew the answer to that. Running and hiding were the easy options. He knew he couldn’t live with himself if he took them.

  Not for the first time he wished The Order was still around. It’d been their sacred duty to deal with problems like this. But he was six years too late. He was on his own unless he could talk his friend, Winston, into helping.

  Until he got his staff back he had to stay hidden, watch from the shadows and find out if Maeve was working alone or leading something bigger. His gut feeling was that she was a loner but he needed to be sure.

  He should have asked Zoe more questions. It was better luck than he deserved that she wasn’t one of Maeve’s groupies. Once he’d found that out he’d had the perfect opportunity to pick her brain. And he’d been so surprised he’d wasted it.

  Perhaps he should meet her for that drink. Just to find out more about Maeve and Anam Cara. Finn smiled. Zoe had been fun to be with in a rainstorm that would have drowned a lot of people’s good humour. Think what a good time they’d have in a decent pub with a few drinks, maybe a bite to eat. Especially if she wore something more flattering than that ugly cagoule.

  Focus. He was in the middle of the most dangerous thing he’d ever done. This wasn’t the time to start dating. And Zoe deserved better than that. She was a nice girl. She should be left alone to draw King Arthur and then go back to London to get on with the rest of her life.

  He shouldn’t have said he’d ring her. He’d only done it to erase the disappointment that had flitted across her expressive face. He’d tried, when they said goodbye, to let her know that he wouldn’t call. As she turned away he thought, with more regret than he’d anticipated, that she got the message.

  Turning onto the road that led back to the centre of Glastonbury he occupied his mind with practicalities. The location of the hostel on the main street meant he couldn’t spend another night there. This was a small town and there’d be too many opportunities for him to be seen coming and going. He needed somewhere quiet and isolated, where no one would notice if he was out half the night. A place on the opposite side of town to Anam Cara.

  Should he have warned Zoe to leave? He’d stopped himself because obviously he couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d never believe that. But he could have lied. Said Maeve gave her guests food poisoning or cloned their credit cards. Instead all he’d done was warn her about the healing. Would that and her ability to see through Maeve be enough to keep her safe?

  And why had she suddenly stopped and looked frightened? What was that all about? She’d been like an open book up until that point. Then immediately afterwards she’d asked when he’d last been at Anam Cara. Had she seen him in the garden last night? He’d seen movement at one of the upstairs windows, instantly feared it was Maeve. If that had been Zoe then what else had she seen?

  There was no point thinking about it. He’d decided not to see her again. That was the end of it. First priority was making sure he could defend himself. Which meant he had to see to his sister. If he was going to Melton he needed transport. He’d have to hire a car. Expensive but not impossible now that he was reunited with his bank account. And he needed food and a few beers. It was a bloody long time since he’d had a beer.

  The residential streets turned into shops and cafes as he approached the centre of the town. He pulled his hat lower, hunched his shoulders and kept his head down. His eyes scanned the roads. Searching for one face among the pedestrians shielded by umbrellas or behind the windscreen of passing cars.

  Hurrying through the door of the hostel, he asked the man behind the desk if there was a phone he could use. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  He was directed to a shabby cubicle under the stairs. It was clearly built for midgets. Hunched over, his shoulders pressing against the low ceiling, it took him a few seconds to remember how to use a pay phone. He stuck two pound coins in the slot and dialled his sister’s mobile.

  Listening to it ring, he felt himself tense at the thought of Cat’s reaction to hearing his voice. But the voice that answered was his mother’s. “Mum?” he managed to croak before his throat closed up.

  “Finn? Oh sweet Jesus, is that you?” Maggie McCloud’s voice cracked as she spoke. He tried to reassure her but he couldn’t find the words. A barrage of exclamations and questions erupted down the line swiftly followed by stifled sobs. Crammed into the tiny scruffy space, Finn felt totally bloody helpless as he listened to his mother cry.

  At the end of the call, his face contorted with bleak fury. He’d stayed calm while speaking to Maggie, promised that he’d be at her house tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest. When he slammed the phone down his rage exploded. “The fucking evil bitch! I’m going to fucking kill her!” His fist whipped out, once and again, slamming against the thin plywood wall.

  Then he slumped forward. His forehead rested on the cold metal of the payphone. He’d thought he’d saved Cat. Turned out he’d only done half the job. She still suffered, was still in pain.

  After a long moment he fed in more coins and dialled again. When a deep Scottish voice answered, he said, “Winston? It’s Finn.”

  “Bloody hell, Finn! Where’ve you been for all these months?”

  “It’s a long story. I ran into some trouble.”

  “In Glastonbury. I know. I came to look for you.”

  “You did?” Again Finn found himself lost for words. He’d not expected that.

  “Aye, you rang me remember? The night you disappeared. When I rang back I got your Mum. She told me what’d been going on. How your sister had turned up but you’d gone missing. I spent a week down in Somerset trying to track you down.”

  “Thanks.” Finn swallowed hard. He’d forgotten about the phone call. If only he’d waited...

  “Come on then, where’ve you been hiding since Samhain?”

  Finn winced. “Not hiding. Hidden. Look, I’m using the pay phone at the hostel and I don’t know who might be listening so I’ll keep it short. The trouble I ran into is still here. I need your help to tackle it.”

  “Count me in,” Winston said.

  Chapter 7

  What is it with Glastonbury? Zoe slammed her feet down as she tramped up the hill to Anam Cara. Why was everything that had happened since she’d arrived freaky or scary? Or both?

  And now Finn was part of that. He’d seemed to be just a normal guy when they’d met by the river. Well, not entirely normal because he was interesting and attractive and - God only knew - that didn’t happen every day. But then it turned out that he’s not just a guy, he’s the guy. The one from the garden, the one from her drawing. The one that she’d dreamed about three times before she met him.

  And that gave a whole new meaning to meeting the man of her dreams. A meaning she seriously didn’t want to get into because she was so not together about this whole seeing the future thing. Not that it mattered anyway because she was almost one hundred per cent sure that she wouldn’t see him again.

  Turning the corner of Anam Cara’s high wall, she reached the gate. Her eyes widened as she saw, hanging from a rusty nail above the gate, a bunch of foliage tied with brown ribbon.

  On tiptoes she stretched up to get a better look. The wide shiny leaves she recognised as bay, and the dark green, prickly one was obviously holly. She couldn’t identify the frond of long, thin leaves, evenly spaced along a central spine.

  Why did Maeve keep hanging things from her property? This was like something from folklore. But Maeve didn’t seem the kind to go in for superstitious nonsense. There must be some reason for the bundle of leaves. And the damned doll. Because otherwise why was Maeve so desperate to find it? She’d said it was for sentimental reasons but Zoe had trouble imagining Maeve being sentimental about any
thing. Least of all a crude, ugly doll.

  Had it been a mistake to throw it in the river? She could have brought it back, dropped it somewhere in the garden and kept her fingers crossed that Dylan or Kyle found it. It was too late for that now. She’d rather enjoyed its watery end. As the doll sank there’d been a sweet sense of release as if her late night terrors went down with it.

  Zoe frowned as she realised that people behind this gate were probably still looking for the damned thing. If only she could come clean and tell them they weren’t going to find it. But then she’d have to admit that she’d taken it. And she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to face Maeve when she was angry. She was unnerving enough when she was pretending to be pleasant.

  Punching in the security code, Zoe pushed opened the gate. Keeping her head down, she hurried along the path. The roar of a motor startled her and she looked up to see Dylan standing over the felled trunk of the Green Man’s tree, a chainsaw snarling in his hands.

  Zoe blinked and quickly looked away. Get a grip, she told herself. The Green Man’s gone. Stop reacting like Dylan’s dismembering the corpse of an old friend.

  She detoured around Kyle who was wielding a dripping angler’s net as he removed debris from the pond. Helena, wearing extremely unflattering blue overalls, raked leaves into piles on the lawn. She called hello and Zoe returned the greeting but didn’t slow her pace.

  Striding through the house and running up the stairs she couldn’t stop herself from scanning nervously around. In the safety of her room, she kicked off her soggy trainers and stripped wet jeans from her chilled legs. Then she hauled her portfolio from under the bed and took three drawings from it. Dropping them on the bed she climbed under the covers.

  She balanced the sketches of Finn on her bent knees. Staring at them, she searched for details that she’d missed before. She’d forgotten, in the shock of realising who he was, that he looked terrified in this picture. She traced a finger over his ripped, dirty clothes. “What were you doing, Finn?” she whispered. “You don’t look like a thief or an axe murderer. So why were you here?”

  Her mind ran back over the time she’d spent with him, seeking clues that she’d missed, words that could have a different meaning. Were his moments of withdrawal anything to do with Anam Cara? She tried to remember what had triggered his silence. It was hard to recall his exact words but she didn’t think there was a pattern.

  Unless - she reran the conversation in the lane just before they’d said goodbye - it was something to do with his sister. He’d said he met Maeve because of her, that Catriona had been staying at Anam Cara. But that - Zoe counted back on her fingers – was six months ago. What had brought him here on Sunday?

  She wished now that she’d asked more directly. She could have pretended that she’d seen him in the garden from her window. Only she’d not thought of that at the time. She’d just wanted to avoid anything that could end up with her revealing that she’d dreamt about him. She could all too easily imagine the look of horror on his face if she’d said that. It would have been a sure fire way to guarantee never seeing him again.

  Not that she was going to anyway. Despite the moment of connection when he’d taken her hand - which seemed to say more than all the words that they’d exchanged - she was sure he wouldn’t ring.

  Her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch, surprised to find it was almost 3 o’clock. Deciding to have a quick shower and then raid the stash of food hidden in the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet, she picked up her towel and headed for the bathroom.

  Half an hour later - dressed in the warmest clothes she’d brought with her - she draped the wet towel over the radiator beneath the window. On the windowsill, between a polished piece of rose quartz and a star shaped candle was a clear glass jar filled with leaves.

  Certain it hadn’t been there earlier Zoe picked it up. The leaves were the same as those suspended above the gate and there was also something that rattled. She poked at the foliage. Something pricked her finger.

  Instinctively, she stuck it in her mouth. Bringing the container up to eye level, she peered through the bottom and shook it gently. Hidden amongst the foliage were pins and needles. Zoe slammed the jar down and stepped away from it. What kind of person put a jar of needles in a guest’s room? The thing should have a health warning.

  Sinking down on the bed, Zoe closed her eyes. She’d had enough. She’d come here to draw. All she wanted was a nice B&B for a few days where she could concentrate on King Arthur. She did not want spooky bloody dolls, tables that triggered inexplicably brutal emotions or freaky psychic dreams.

  Which brought her back to the decision that she’d been putting off since this morning. Except now she definitely didn’t want to leave. Okay, so Finn might not ring but Glastonbury was a small town. Maybe she’d bump into him. And now she’d met him the dreams didn’t seem so scary. It wouldn’t be a stranger she was dreaming of. It’d be Finn.

  But there was no way she could endure two more nights at Anam Cara. There must be a normal bed and breakfast somewhere in Glastonbury. There was a tourist information office on the main street; she could go there and plead with them to find her somewhere else. It was worth working extra shifts at the cinema for a month to get out of this mad house.

  With the decision made Zoe pulled open the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet to reveal half a packet of chocolate hobnobs and an apple. Not what you’d call a healthy, well balanced lunch but better than nothing. As she bit into the apple there was a knock on the door. About to shout ‘come in’ she spotted her sketches of Finn lying on the bed.

  “Just a minute,” she called. Sliding them into her portfolio, she kicked it under the bed and hurried to open the door. Tanya leant against the doorframe. Her face was ashen and creased with pain, her skin covered in a thin film of sweat.

  “Oh my God! Are you alright?” Zoe asked.

  “I don’t feel well.” Tanya’s voice was low as if it hurt to talk. “Have you got any painkillers?”

  “Sure. Come and sit down while I dig them out for you.” Zoe held the door open. Tanya stepped forward and then swayed, bumping against the wall. Zoe placed her hand under her friend’s elbow and gently guided her towards the bed.

  “Bad head?” Zoe said, trying to keep the shock at Tanya’s appearance out of her voice.

  “Shocking.” Tanya’s whisper was followed by a dry, rasping cough.

  “Has it just come on? You seemed okay at breakfast.”

  “I woke up with it about half an hour ago. I was really tired after the healing. Maeve said I should rest and I went straight to bed. I slept for over two hours but I’m still exhausted. I’ve drunk loads of water like Penny said. But it’s not doing any good.” Tanya’s face crumpled. Her voice was thick with tears. “It’s not just my head. My chest feels really tight like I can’t catch my breath. And I feel sick.”

  “You poor thing.” Zoe rummaged in her bag until she found the packet of painkillers and pressed them into Tanya’s limp hand. Registering the heat emanating from Tanya’s skin, she said, “You’re really hot. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

  “I don’t know. I feel kind of shivery.” Standing, Tanya coughed wheezily again.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Zoe hovered by Tanya’s shoulder waiting to catch her if she wobbled again.

  “If it’s no trouble, more water would be good. I can’t believe how thirsty I am.”

  “No problem. You go and lie down and I’ll bring it to you.” Zoe waited while Tanya walked slowly, one hand pressed to her temple, across the landing.

  Running down to the kitchen, Zoe wondered if this was the healing crisis that Penny had talked about at breakfast. As she flipped open cupboards looking for a glass, she remembered Finn’s warning about Maeve’s healing abilities. Could this be why he’d said Maeve wasn’t a healer? Walking back up the stairs, the words that she’d thought she misheard popped into her mind. He couldn’t really have said, “at leas
t you’ll be safe”, could he?

  Tanya’s room was larger than hers, decorated in shades of purple, with windows on two sides. Her friend lay fully dressed under the patchwork quilt, her head turned into the crook of her raised arm.

  “Here’s the water.” Zoe put the glass on the bedside cabinet. Tanya murmured her thanks. “Would you like me to draw the curtains?” Tanya nodded and Zoe walked to the window.

  A jar of leaves stood on the windowsill just like in her room. Picking it up, she shook it and heard it rattle. More needles. As she pulled the curtains together she saw that there was an unobstructed view of the entire garden.

  “You know you said there was someone in the garden last night.” Zoe glanced over her shoulder at Tanya. “Was it a guy? Tall, kind of good looking, late twenties?”

  “Maeve said there was no one there,” Tanya said faintly.

  “Yeah, I know. I was just wondering what you thought you saw.” Zoe walked to the other window.

  “I thought it was a man. But I was wrong. There was no one there.” Tanya sounded close to tears and instantly Zoe felt bad about asking questions.

  “Yes, of course. Sorry. Forget I asked, okay?” Zoe tweaked the curtains together until only the merest sliver of light slipped into the room. “Is there anything else you need or shall I leave you to rest?”

  “Thanks. I’m going try to sleep it off. Got to be better for tonight.”

  “Well, shout if you need anything.” Zoe gently closed the door, the sound of coughing following her out.

  Back in her room she picked up the discarded apple. The exposed flesh had gone an unappetising shade of brown and she tossed it into the bin. What if Finn was right? What if Maeve had done something to make Tanya ill? Only why would she? What could she possibly gain from making her guests poorly?