Beltane

by Alys West

  As the clock’s hands eased towards half past seven she had to move. She spent five minutes in the ladies brushing her hair out of its ponytail and applying lip-gloss before paying her bill. Outside, she immediately looked up.

  Big, white, candyfloss clouds were gliding across the sky partially obscuring the sun. A breeze had picked up. She told herself it could still be alright. The fat clouds might blow away. The sun could still set as she’d drawn it.

  Fuelled by nerves and anticipation she hurried down the High Street. Seeing a display in a shop window she skidded to a halt. Two mannequins, one male, one female, stood by a fire unconvincingly fashioned from orange paper and fairy lights. The woman wore clinging white robes, had artificial flowers in her straight black hair and held a crystal wand. The man wore only loose fitting linen trousers. Suspended from a leather thong around his neck, and resting against his improbably muscled plastic torso, was a silver amulet in the shape of a five pointed star.

  The scene was almost exactly as she’d imagined Maeve’s Beltane celebrations and she grinned. Then she saw the knife.

  A shiver sprinted down her spine as she looked at its curved blade. It reminded her of something. Something bad. She tried to dredge up the memory but all that surfaced was pain and paralyzing terror.

  Stepping back, her eyes rose to read the shop’s name painted in gold letters on a dark green background. Morgan le Fey. Arthur’s half-sister. The witch.

  Bloody hell! That’s what was in Maeve’s book. Witchcraft. Casting a circle.

  Zoe almost ran down the hill and around the corner into Magdalen Street. How had she missed it for so long? The doll, the stone table (damn it, Maeve even called it an altar!) the leaves above the gate and in the jar in her room.

  Crossing the road, she figured she finally understood Maeve’s obsessive search for the doll. She wouldn’t want it to get out that she dabbled in witchcraft. Imagine if that information found its way onto Trip Advisor. It would definitely be bad for business.

  Zoe grinned briefly. She might post it herself. Once she was safely back in London.

  She turned into a lane lined with parked cars. This certainly explained why she didn’t like being around the altar. She remembered the black candles. That must be where Maeve did her spells. Maybe she’d picked up some vibe and that’s why the table freaked her out.

  Her footsteps slowed. Only she felt pure terror from it. And there was something seriously freaky about the doll. It felt almost evil, like dark magic.

  Oh please! She shoved her hair back from her face. That was just too Harry Potter. This was the real world and in the real world magic didn’t exist. If Maeve wanted to spend her time messing around with spells and incantations then that was her business.

  At the brow of the hill was a kissing gate. She stepped through and stopped. This place was exactly like her picture. The ridge of the hill climbed gently towards the thorn and then rose up like the spine of a sleeping dragon. Beyond the thorn a well-worn path through nettles and brambles followed the curve of the hill.

  Bypassing a duo of grazing sheep, she walked towards the tree. She knew its legend. Arriving on the Isle of Avalon, Joseph of Arimathea had plunged his staff into the soil. It had taken root and sprouted into a thorn tree.

  The tree was badly mutilated, its branches cropped. The lady in the Tourist Information had told her it had been vandalised a number of times. The only hope of saving it had been to cut it back.

  Multi-coloured ribbons tied to the railings surrounding the tree fluttered in the breeze. Zoe caught a white one. It had words written on it in black marker. Someone had written their prayer – in a language she couldn’t read – and tied it here in the hope it would be answered. The tree seemed too small, too puny for the weight of the wishes and prayers it carried. Feeling she’d intruded, she let the ribbon go.

  Zoe glanced at her watch – half an hour to sunset - and then at the sky. The clouds were fatter, crowding out more of the blue.

  Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out a tattered silk scarf that she used to tie up her hair. She tore a strip off the end, found a space to tie the fabric to the iron railing and whispered, “Please let me see Finn this evening. I so need to talk to him. He’s the only person who’d understand if I said...” Her voice dropped even lower, “Maeve’s a witch or a Wiccan or whatever it is they call themselves.” Letting the fabric go, she watched her prayer join the others.

  She walked to a green painted bench. From here she had a perfect view of the paths from the town; the one she’d walked up from the gate and the other that rose steeply from the main road. Pulling out her sketchpad and pencils she tried to look busy. As if she wasn’t only here to stalk the man she fancied.

  The view across the town to the Tor was pretty enough. She sketched in the outline but her thoughts churned over what to say to Finn and her pencil wandered to draw his face in the corner of the page. She screwed it up, rammed it to the bottom of her bag and tried again.

  She glanced at her watch. After eight already. If he didn’t come soon he’d miss the sunset. The paths from the town were empty. She turned to look over her shoulder. There was no one on the hill. She swivelled the other way and her heart plummeted. Clouds quilted the sky totally obscuring the sun.

  He wasn’t coming.

  Her shoulders slumped. The hope of seeing Finn had been like Prozac. Without it everything seemed a whole lot blacker.

  She couldn’t go back to Anam Cara. She’d stolen Maeve’s bloody doll and been in her office. If she knew that she’d skin her alive. Zoe shuddered. She wasn’t exaggerating. Maeve seemed capable of anything.

  Real world, she reminded herself. Magic doesn’t actually exist and people who do it are either sadly deluded or totally crazy. But that doesn’t mean they’re not scary. Maeve freaked her out as much as if she were Lord Voldemort himself.

  And why the hell hadn’t she figured this out earlier when she’d still had the chance to leave? Now it was too late. She had nowhere else to go. Her only option was to delay her return for as long as possible. But she couldn’t do that here. The cloudy skies had hastened the night.

  She trudged towards the gate. No matter what further damage it did to her overdraft she was getting out of Anam Cara tomorrow. Even if she had to beg her Mum for a loan.

  Darkness congregated in the lane. A streetlight flickered half way down the hill. Hearing footsteps, Zoe glanced over her shoulder. A tall man strode purposefully. Suddenly aware that there was no one else around, she looked again. Caught a glimpse of dark clothes, short hair, a white face.

  This was Glastonbury not Lewisham. She was probably totally safe. But she picked up her pace anyway. The footsteps sounded nearer. She risked another glance. He’d gained on her. Instincts honed from years of living in London kicked in. She pushed her legs to go faster, took a firm grip on the strap of her bag ready to swing it to defend herself.

  “Hey Zoe, wait up!” the man shouted.

  Chapter 12

  Poised for immediate flight if it wasn’t Finn, Zoe swung round. He strode towards her. She had just enough time to see that he didn’t have any new injuries, and to realise they must still be in his future, when he was with her.

  “Hi, how are you?” He seemed taller than she remembered. His chest, at her eye level, appeared broader and she suddenly felt tiny. Faced with the reality of his presence her pre-prepared witty banter flew out of her head and she answered his question reflexively.

  “Are you okay? You look a bit....” Finn said, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “I’m fine now I know it was you behind me and not some deranged stalker!” The words came out sharper than she’d intended. Heat crept into her cheeks.

  “Jesus! I’m sorry. I never thought.” Finn reached out, his fingers fleetingly brushing her sleeve. Zoe’s heart bounced at his touch. His eyes were soft with concern. The dark circles beneath them had faded. A livid red slash marked his forehead where yesterday a plaster had been.

  “
Where did you come from anyway?” Zoe said. Had she left the Holy Thorn too soon?

  “Along the road. I’m staying out that way in a little village called Sharpham.” He gestured up the road and she saw that, like yesterday, he carried a small backpack.

  “Oh!” His explanation was disconcertingly normal. And totally different to what she’d imagined from her drawing. “I was at the Holy Thorn. Have you been there?” she said, falling into step with him.

  “Yeah, years ago. I came with Padraig, my uncle. He was from Donegal, fiercely proud of his heritage and had a very low opinion of the English. But one Easter he came over and took me on a tour of sacred sites. Stonehenge, Avebury, those kind of places. We came to Glastonbury. Saw the Tor, the Holy Thorn.”

  Zoe smiled at the obvious affection in his voice. “That sounds great.”

  “I don’t think I was as appreciative as he’d hoped. I was fourteen and a right pain in the arse.”

  “I find that hard to believe!” She laughed, sending a teasing glance his way.

  Their feet slowed as they reached the junction. Finn tugged a black hat from his pocket. He put it on over his untidy hair, pulling it down until it rested on his eyebrows.

  The main road turned at a right angle where the lane joined it. Cars hurried past, street lights turned the dark into a soft gloom.

  Finn pointed straight ahead. “I’m going this way so I’ll say goodbye then.”

  Zoe hesitated. If she walked with him she’d be back at Anam Cara much too soon but if she went into town she might never see him again. “I’ll walk with you.”

  Finn frowned. Head down, he strode across the road. Zoe’s stomach flipped as she followed him. She’d forgotten how confusing he was to be around. He’d seemed genuinely pleased to see her in the lane. Why had that changed?

  When she caught up with him on the pavement, Finn said, “How’s it going at Anam Cara?” He glanced over his shoulder as a car’s headlights slid over them.

  “Not great. I swear the place gets weirder every day.”

  “In what way?”

  “How long have you got?” Zoe said, with a forced laugh.

  “If it’s that bad why don’t you find somewhere else to stay?” Finn turned to look behind them as he spoke. Puzzled, Zoe copied him. She couldn’t see anything to worry about. The pavement was empty. A few cars passed, their headlights briefly filling the road with light.

  “Believe me, I’m trying.” Zoe filled him in on her attempts to find a room elsewhere – making a joke about struggling artists to hide her embarrassment at her penniless state – ending with telling him she’d be at the hostel from Thursday.

  She realised her lack of enthusiasm must have been obvious when Finn said, “The hostel’s not that bad. I stayed there on Sunday night.”

  “But is your idea of not that bad the same as mine?” Zoe said, as they came to the zebra crossing. Finn’s stride lengthened leaving her trailing behind. Reaching the pavement he stood with his back to the road.

  He turned as she joined him and said, “I’ve stayed in some rough holes so I’m pretty easily pleased. If it’s got hot running water and an inside toilet then I’m happy.”

  “I’m more of a fluffy towel and complimentary toiletries kind of girl!”

  “I managed to scrounge a towel. That was about the limit to the luxuries.” Finn grinned briefly. Zoe smiled with him. They passed a five bar gate leading to the mediaeval barn housing the Rural Life Museum. Mature trees crowded around it, their canopies casting shadows over the pavement.

  “Actually, I’m surprised they let you in. They told me I absolutely had to arrive before midnight or I’d be sleeping on the street.” Zoe flicked a teasing glance at him as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “The guy behind the desk did need....” Finn stopped abruptly, grabbing her wrist. There was nothing remotely flirtatious in his touch. His fingers were a tight band but she felt again the strange tingle on her skin. “How did you know I arrived after midnight?”

  Zoe tried to shrug. “Didn’t you mention it yesterday?”

  “I don’t think so.” Finn’s voice was steady but she could sense that his control was thin. Her gaze slid away. Had she made a mistake in trusting him? What did she actually know about him?

  He tugged impatiently on her wrist. “Did Maeve tell you?” She didn’t reply, didn’t look at him and he said, “Please Zoe, this is important.” Hearing the undertow of fear in his voice, she turned to look at him.

  He dropped her wrist, made a gesture that seemed to say ‘sorry’. In the twilight his eyes were unreadable. She couldn’t walk away and leave him doubting her. She had to tell him what she knew. Only without revealing how she knew it.

  “I saw you in the garden on Sunday night. After the tree exploded I looked out of the window and you were there.” She saw shock register on Finn’s face, instantly followed by the coldness she’d seen yesterday.

  “How long have you known?”

  “I didn’t recognise you at first yesterday. I’d only seen you in the dark and for no more than a second. It was just that I had this feeling that I knew you but it only clicked when we were walking down the lane.”

  “When you stopped?” Shoulders hunched, Finn looked suddenly vulnerable.

  “Yes,” Zoe whispered. As Finn stared over her head, she studied his face, unable to decipher the emotions that flickered across it.

  “I see now why you thought I was a stalker.” Finn rubbed his hand over his face, his voice gruff.

  “No! I didn’t. I don’t think you’re a stalker... or a burglar or ...or anything like that.” She gestured a little wildly. “Do you think I’d be here if I did?”

  “But you know nothing about me. We only met yesterday.”

  Hearing him voice her doubts stung and Zoe spoke without thinking. “Because for some reason - I don’t why - I kind of trust you.” Realising how much she’d revealed, she looked down.

  “You shouldn’t.” Finn shook his head, his voice bitter. “I’m risking your safety just by walking down this road with you. And if I ever thought more than two bloody seconds ahead, I’d have figured that out before I shouted.”

  “I...I don’t understand.” But she was very afraid that she did. She’d not misread him earlier. He didn’t want her around.

  “And that’s the best way.” Finn’s voice was unexpectedly soft. “Go back to London and forget you ever met me.”

  Like she’d ever be able to do that. Then her chin rose. She looked up at him. If she wasn’t going to see him again there was one question she had to ask. “What were you doing in the garden on Sunday night?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because...” Finn scowled. Eyes fixed on his face, Zoe waited. Was that the only answer she was going to get? His mouth twisted. “You’d never believe me if I did.”

  “But it’s to do with Maeve, right?” The breeze stirred the leaves above them, blowing Zoe’s hair around her face. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why can’t you tell me? I already know that there’s weird stuff going on at Anam Cara.”

  “Zoe, let it go. You don’t need to know what’s happening.”

  “Why not? I’m the one staying there, remember! I’m right in the middle of this and it’s awful and Tanya’s ill and I don’t know what to do about it.” Hearing her voice getting higher and squeakier, Zoe sucked in a breath. “She had healing with Maeve yesterday and she’s been ill ever since. And Helena told me that Tanya’s not the only one. Everyone gets ill after healing. And Maeve tried to tell me it was a healing crisis.” Zoe’s fingers sketched quotation marks in the air. “But that’s crap. Tanya’s really poorly. She looks awful. Really, really bad and she’s throwing up all the time. And Maeve hasn’t even bothered to see her. How crap is that? And I’m trying to take care of her but I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. And you’re the only person I’v
e met since I’ve been here who actually sees Maeve for the cold-hearted bitch that she is. Everyone else thinks she’s fabulous. Even Tanya. Even…”

  “Jesus, Zoe! Not so loud.” Scanning the road, Finn stepped closer.

  “Sorry.” Zoe’s hair fell across her face to hide her burning cheeks. “It’s just that now I know Maeve’s dabbling in witchcraft or a Wicca or...”

  Finn grabbed her shoulder. “What?”

  “Didn’t you know? It’s taken me a while to figure it out but I’m pretty sure...” Zoe’s words were lost as Finn pulled her towards him. Her feet left the floor. Too stunned to think, her fingers fastened in his fleece and held on. He spun her away from the side of the road and into the deepest shadow. When her feet touched down, she sucked in a breath, her nose pressed against his chest. He smelled of fresh air and sunshine and something muskier that made her blood flutter.

  “Shush,” he whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her skin. “There’s a car at the junction that might be Maeve.”

  “So?” Zoe muttered, trying to pull away.

  Finn’s arms tightened around her. “She mustn’t see you with me. It’s too risky.”

  She felt, rather than saw, him straighten as the car passed. His hand settled gently on her hair, holding her to his chest. She could hear his heart beating next to her ear. For one delicious second, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to lean into his safe, strong chest. His hand slid down her hair. Her scalp and her neck tingled and she clamped her mouth shut to stop from murmuring with pleasure.

  Then he released her. “It’s okay. She’s gone.”

  They shuffled awkwardly apart. Zoe felt her cheeks flame scarlet. She hitched her bag onto her shoulder. “Was it Maeve? Did she see us?”

  “It’s her car. I saw the number plate. But she’d need x-ray vision to have seen you.” Finn looked up and down the road as if he expected the car to reappear.