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  Her mobile rang. Hoping it was Finn, she frantically scrambled through her bag to find it and was sharply disappointed to see Anna’s name on the screen. Yesterday she’d been waiting for her best friend to call. Today she couldn’t handle talking to anyone else who unquestioningly adored Maeve. She let the phone ring.

  A little later a loud buzzing sounded from the hall. Fearing it signalled Maeve’s return, Zoe tensed. She heard Helena’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. A door banged. Voices were raised, Helena’s and a man’s with a Somerset accent. Tanya’s name spoken again and again. Something about a doctor.

  Zoe scurried to the kitchen door. Dave stood in the hall, his arms around Tanya who slumped against him, her head resting on his chest. Helena bustled around them.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Zoe said, shocked to see that, despite her elegant red dress and fabulous heels, Tanya looked paler and sicker than she’d done this afternoon.

  “She’s not well,” Dave said. “She should be in bed. Can you show me which is her room?”

  “Sure.” Zoe picked Tanya’s red suede bag from the floor and headed up the stairs.

  “Tanya, we need to get you up to bed. Can you walk?” Dave said to her, his voice soft. Feebly apologising for the inconvenience she was causing, Tanya allowed her arm to be placed over Dave’s shoulders. Murmuring constant encouragement, Dave half carried her up the stairs.

  Zoe steered them into Tanya’s room, Helena trailing behind them saying, “If only Maeve was here. She’d know what to do.” Zoe resisted the impulse to say, ‘I think she’s done more than enough,’ as she slid Tanya’s beautiful shoes from her feet and placed them under a chair.

  Dave helped Tanya under the covers. “I’ll ring you tomorrow. You’re not to worry about this evening.” He took her hand. “Just concentrate on getting better so we can rearrange.”

  Zoe abruptly felt de trop and left them to it. Hovering on the landing, she waited for an opportunity to speak to Dave. Helena hurried past and returned carrying a large bowl that she took into Tanya’s room. When Dave emerged, Zoe said, “What happened?”

  “I don’t exactly know,” Dave said as they slowly descended the stairs. “She looked a bit pale when I picked her up. I asked if she was alright and she said she was fine. After we’d had our starters she went to the bathroom. She was gone so long I was starting to think maybe she’d done a runner.” Dave smiled weakly. “But she hadn’t. She’d been throwing up in there and then passed out. When she came back to the table she looked bloody awful, white as a sheet, shaking like a leaf. I wanted to call an ambulance but she wouldn’t let me. Said that I had to bring her back here.” Dave halted in the porch and added quietly, “And then the bloody woman who works here refused to ring for a doctor.”

  “Helena?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Said she couldn’t do anything ‘til Maeve got back.”

  “You think Tanya needs to see the doctor now?” Zoe said, walking across the lawn. Twilight seeped into the shadowy corners of the garden.

  “I know I’d feel better if I knew she’d seen a proper doctor. All this healing nonsense, that’s what got her into this mess in the first place.”

  “Tanya told you about that?”

  “She said she only started to feel bad after she’d had her session with Maeve. And it don’t take a genius to put two and two together and make four, now does it?”

  “No,” Zoe said. “I’ve been wondering about that myself.”

  “She said you took care of her this afternoon. Will you keep an eye on her? Make that Helena ring for a doctor if she gets worse?”

  “Yes, of course.” They’d reached the gate. Zoe pulled it open. A large black car stood in front of it.

  “Thanks.” Frowning, Dave looked back at the house. “That makes me feel better about leaving her here.”

  Zoe stepped closer to him. “Why? What’s wrong with here?”

  “People talk about it. And the woman who owns it. I’d always thought it was complete rubbish but when I saw that -” Dave nodded at the bundle of leaves above the gate “- I wasn’t so sure.”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Probably nothing. My Gran was always filling my head with superstitious nonsense.” Dave walked around his car. “Seems like some of it must have stuck.”

  “Dave, please! What do people say about this place?”

  With the driver’s door open, he looked at her over the car’s roof. “It’s nothing to worry about, Zoe. It’s only gossip and old wives tales.”

  “About what?” Zoe cried as the door slammed shut. The headlights swung in an arc as the car reversed into the road.

  Zoe stared after it. What had Dave meant? What could Maeve be doing in Glastonbury - where alternative lifestyles were the norm - that stirred up gossip? And what had that got to do with the bundle of leaves above the gate? He could at least have told her what his Gran said. It was alright him dismissing his worries. He wasn’t the one who had to spend another night here.

  Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck. Feeling as if someone watched her, she instinctively looked around. She couldn’t see anyone but the sensation persisted. She lifted her eyes to the Tor. She’d drawn Finn up there. Was he watching her now?

  Chapter 9

  In the shadow of the tower, Finn’s grip tightened on his binoculars as he watched Zoe go back into Anam Cara. It was one thing knowing she was staying there. Something else to see that gate close behind her.

  Watching her talk to the big guy had made him smile. Her body language was as revealing as if she had a thought bubble above her head. Her hands had whisked through the air in confusion and increasing agitation. When the bloke drove away she’d stared after him, arms folded across her chest, obviously pissed off.

  Earlier the man had helped a woman into the house. That brought back memories Finn didn’t want to think about. If he needed another justification for what he planned then he had it. Maeve continued to steal from her guests.

  A movement in his peripheral vision startled him. He looked up to see a bat circling overhead, dipping and swooping in its flight. He focused the binoculars on it. Identified it as a common pipistrelle. Turning back to Anam Cara, he waited.

  Earlier he’d watched Maeve take her car from the garage at the rear of her house and head down the road into town. It’d be ironic, he’d thought, if she was searching for him as he watched Anam Cara.

  The wind was picking up. Stepping into the lee of the tower he flipped the collar of his fleece up. It was a reflexive action. He was in no danger of getting cold. Awen spiralled upwards from the ground beneath his feet, warming his blood and soothing his aching muscles.

  Much later, when night had settled like a cloak around the Tor, he saw a light go on in a first floor room, a slim figure drawing the curtains. He was surprised at the wave of fury that pulsed through him. How he wanted to storm down there, kick the gate in and get her out.

  Like that went so well the first time.

  Zoe’s different, he told himself. She can see through Maeve. She’s been warned.

  The light went out. Finn stiffened and then forced himself to relax. Zoe had a window in her room. She could come and go as she wanted. It wasn’t the same at all.

  But it was too déjà-bloody-vu for words. Almost exactly six months later. Same hill, same house. Watching and waiting in the dark.

  Four days in October but it had felt like forty. Four days since his Mum had rung with the news that his sister hadn’t turned up for work for the second day in a row and her colleagues couldn’t contact her. Four days since the police had been called. Countless hours at the police station. Question after intrusive question as the investigators picked over every detail of his sister’s life. His mother edging closer to a breakdown with every day of silence. Four sleepless nights. Nothing to do but wait. And all the time, like poison festering in a wound, he knew he’d let Cat down.

  With the benefit of hindsight he cou
ld see that when he stood here in October he’d not been thinking straight. Guilt had been like acid in his gut. He remembered the almost perfect circle of the moon casting a ghostly light over the Levels. Every time he’d looked at it his panic had sharpened. Because the next night the moon would be full. On Samhain.

  For that reason he’d acted alone. Climbing the wall into Anam Cara, not waiting for Winston to return his call. He’d told himself that, even if his friend could get away, there was nothing he could do. Winston was in Glasgow. It’d be hours before he arrived. If he was right then Cat didn’t have that long.

  When he found her in that tiny, windowless room - terrified, barely able to stand – he knew he’d done the right thing. A feeling that was extremely short lived. Because he’d not planned how to get them out of there. And he’d catastrophically underestimated Maeve.

  A car stopped outside Anam Cara and a figure got out. He saw blonde hair in the car’s headlights. She put her car in the garage, walked to the gate and entered. She was alone.

  Hands curled into fists, he waited and watched.

  Chapter 10

  Maeve locked the gate and turned towards the house. The glow of the street lights diluted the darkness, revealing the outlines of her garden. Slipping off her shoes, she strolled across the lawn and sat on the stone bench by the pond. The darkness obscured and softened but couldn’t erase the damage. The garden had been her haven. She’d lost that today. Together with the key to her future.

  Whatever happened in the next few days she had to leave. That had always been part of her plan. A necessary sacrifice to bring to fruition her new life. She’d made arrangements. The house would go on the market a week today. By then she’d expected to be far from here.

  Maeve’s hands tightened on the edge of the bench. If next week was not the fresh start she craved, if she were forced to continue the facade in a new location then leaving would be unbearable.

  She knew she’d stayed too long. She should have left eight or ten years ago. Before tongues started to wag. She’d seen the signs many times. Always before it had provoked her to sell up and move on. This time she’d disregarded them, told herself that in this community, at this time, she could never be remarkable.

  She no longer knew or cared if that were true. If people talked about her it hadn’t affected trade. As long as guests came seeking healing she could survive.

  She’d not realised how dissatisfied she’d become with mere survival until last autumn when prayers she’d never dared to formulate had been answered. To have the future she’d worked and planned for snatched away was intolerable. To lose her garden in the process was unendurable.

  Maeve stared into the depths of her ruined pond. She would make them suffer. The price she would exact, the pain she’d leverage from them would be recompense for every broken leaf and tattered flower.

  Because more than her plants had taken root in this garden. She’d broken her own rules and committed part of herself to this place. It had been a kind of homecoming. Back in England, close to her birthplace and the graves that marked her ancient grief. Creating the garden had been an act of worship to the powers that sustained her. Unexpectedly it had also brought her peace.

  Hearing a rustle from the shrubbery, her head jerked round. Persia slunk onto the lawn, her body low to the ground, hunting prey in the shadows. Cats are fortunate, Maeve thought as she stood. They don’t have to hide their true nature.

  Back on the path, she slipped on her shoes and crossed to the garden wing. Entering, she rapped sharply on the door on the left and said, “Helena, I want to see you in my office. Now!”

  After a few seconds she heard a muffled incoherent response. “Get up, get dressed and be there in five minutes,” Maeve said. Back in the house, she left her office door ajar and sat behind her desk, tapping her foot as she waited.

  Looking rather less than half awake, Helena appeared in the doorway. “Is something the matter? Is it about Tanya? Because I told her I couldn’t call the doctor until you’d seen her. I hope that was alright. I didn’t...”

  “Quiet! Close the door and sit down.”

  Helena perched on the edge of the brown leather armchair. Opening her desk drawer, Maeve took out a single strand of black wool and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”

  Helena shook her head.

  “It’s from the doll that’s missing. The doll that I’ve been looking for since dawn. Do you know where I found this piece of wool?”

  “No,” Helena murmured, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  Quashing the impulse to tell her to speak up, Maeve said, “I found it in Zoe’s room. Can you tell me how it got there?”

  “No.” Helena’s voice was even quieter.

  Maeve leaned forward. “That, my dear Helena, is simply unacceptable. On Saturday the doll hung on the tree in the garden. I saw it myself. But, as you know, I was indisposed on Sunday. What did I ask you to do for me?”

  “You asked me to watch Zoe when she was in the garden and keep her away from the tree.” Helena looked up. “And I did! In the afternoon, she was heading towards the tree and I asked her what she was doing and she stopped and went in the house. Then in the evening...” Helena’s hand rose to her mouth. “Oh!”

  “Tell me!”

  “I’d forgotten what with everything else. And it was only a few minutes. I didn’t think...”

  “Stop babbling!” Maeve walked across the room to stand over Helena. “Tell me, slowly and clearly, what happened on Sunday evening.”

  “We went into town to the New Moon Cafe, that is Zoe and Tanya and I went and, well, Tanya met Dave there. He’s the bloke she went to meet this evening, the one who brought her back when she got sick. She chatted to him all night and I was talking to Zoe. Anyways, I went out the back and...” Helena’s gaze dropped to the floor as her words sped up. “And while I was gone Zoe, kind of, left. When I found out that she’d gone, I headed back but she got here before me. And I asked her what she was doing but then it started to rain so she came in anyway and went to bed.”

  “I see.” Maeve paced in front of Helena’s chair. “Where was she when you arrived?”

  “Standing under the tree that the lightning hit. I remember thinking didn’t she know better than to stand there in a thunder storm.”

  “How long had she been in the garden before you got back?”

  “I don’t know.” Helena shrugged. “Five minutes maybe?”

  Maeve raised an eyebrow.

  “Definitely no more than ten.”

  “And tell me, what were you doing ‘out the back’, as you so eloquently put it?”

  Helen’s face crumpled, tears filling her eyes. “I’m real sorry Maeve. It was only one. And I was away for five minutes. No more. I didn’t even finish it.”

  Maeve’s hand whipped down and struck the girl across the face. Her palm tingled with the impact. She permitted herself a swift smile.

  Helena gasped. Tears slid down her pudgy face. She cradled her cheek. “I...I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d got the doll, I swear. I didn’t know anything about the doll until this morning.”

  “But it’s too late for sorry.” Maeve returned to her chair. “I wondered when you came here if I could trust an addict but you were so pathetically keen to change that I gave you a chance. I was wrong. Your inability to resist a quick joint has done more damage than you can possibly imagine.” Maeve stared at Helena as if she were an insect squashed under her foot. “I require your help until Friday. Then you will leave.”

  “Please, Maeve! Don’t make me go. I’m real sorry.” Helena sobbed, tears dripping from her cheeks. “I won’t let you down again. I promise.”

  “Be quiet! You will leave on Friday. And you will not mention this conversation to anyone, is that clear?” Maeve said emphasising each word.

  Helena nodded. Cringing away, she backed towards the door. “Shall I go now? Or is there anything else you want?”

  Maeve waved her hand in dismissal. When
the door closed, she massaged her temples. Exhaustion threatened. The energy she’d taken this morning was waning. She must rest. But not until she’d confronted the source of her problems.

  She walked upstairs. Removing her shoes, she unlocked the door. Stepping inside she stood for a moment waiting for her eyes to adjust, then approached the bed. Zoe slept, vulnerable as a child, one hand tucked under the pillow. Reaching out, Maeve encountered no barriers, no protections. Her hand rested on the girl’s hair. She was defenceless. How unexpected.

  The healer placed her other hand on Zoe’s. Through the touch connection she focused on the girl’s aura. Violet and lavender pulsed gently; dark blue and muddy grey swirled around. How satisfying, Maeve reflected, to see the colours of fear in the girl’s aura. To know she felt it, even if she didn’t show it. And the fear encroached on Zoe’s creativity.

  As Maeve watched silver darted like fireflies across the aura, briefly repelling the darker colours. When the sparks died, the cloudiness slowly leeched back. She waited, barely breathing, for more silver to manifest but it didn’t come.

  She pulled her hands away and walked to the window. Zoe’s aura was vastly different to the steady golden glow of power she’d expected. The silver sparks were interesting. But in this intermittent form, they showed only weak and unfocused potential. There had been times when silver sparks would have been enough to tempt her. She desperately hoped those days were over.

  Moving back to the bed Maeve studied the girl’s face. She needed answers. Perhaps the unconscious mind would be receptive. Bending lower, she began to whisper in Zoe’s ear.

  Chapter 11

  To escape from the nightmare Zoe forced her eyes open. She’d dreamed of a pitch-dark room. She knew she wasn’t alone but she couldn’t see anyone or anything. Only hear a low voice that whispered to her. Only feel cold, clammy hands clutching at her. Pawing her hair, her face, her arms. She’d tried to scream, found herself mute. Tried to fight but was caught in an iron grip. The voice laughed as she’d struggled and the sound followed her back to consciousness.