Beltane

by Alys West

“You’re welcome.” Finn smiled back.

  The moment lengthened until it pulsed with tension. Finn looked away first. He started balancing the beer mats like a house of cards. Watching him, Zoe wondered if he was regretting the offer of a bed.

  As the silence between them reached the edge of awkward, Zoe said, “I really hope Tanya’s okay. I won’t feel so bad about breaking my promise to Dave if she’s alright.”

  “Who’s Dave?” Finn took the beer mat from under Zoe’s glass and added it to his tower.

  “It’s a bit soon to call him Tanya’s boyfriend as they only met on Sunday night and she passed out during their date last night. He lives here.” Zoe dropped her voice to a whisper. “And he told me people talk about Maeve, about what goes on at Anam Cara.”

  “Is he a big bloke? Built like a brick shithouse?” Finn balanced another beer mat.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  Finn’s hands gently balanced another layer. “I’ve seen him around.”

  “Really? Where?”

  He looked up, met Zoe’s puzzled gaze. Shoving his chair away from the table, he said, “You ready to go?” The beer mat tower wobbled and collapsed. Grabbing his fleece Finn headed for the pub’s back door.

  Swinging her bag on to her shoulder she followed him. About to dismiss his words as yet another cryptic comment, she remembered the sense she’d had of being watched when she’d talked to Dave last night. Had that been Finn?

  He held the door open and she stepped out into the poorly lit car park. The wind had picked up. It whipped Zoe’s hair around her face and her hands rose automatically to control it. When she looked up, she saw that Finn had put his hat on. In his dark clothes he looked exactly like a character from a film about to embark on a clandestine mission. Only the blackened face was missing. “What are you going to do?”

  Finn grinned. “I’ll be on the Tor studying the habits of a nocturnal creature.”

  His reply was so unexpected that Zoe laughed. Then the pieces fell into place. The picture she’d drawn of him on the Tor at night, the sense she’d had of being watched. “It’s Maeve, isn’t it? You were watching Anam Cara last night and you’re going back there now?”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Finn’s voice was an agitated whisper. He stepped closer, towering over her.

  “I...” Zoe gulped, realising that once again she’d spoken without thinking and revealed more than she was supposed to know. “I just kind of guessed. I had that prickling on the back of the neck feeling yesterday evening when I was talking to Dave outside Anam Cara... And when you said nocturnal that made me think of Maeve. There’s a creature of the night quality about her, don’t you think? And maybe she is nocturnal. I know she doesn’t usually get up for breakfast so maybe she’s doing something at night...” Realising she was babbling, she trailed off.

  Finn studied her face. Zoe smiled apologetically and tried not to look as crazy as she’d just sounded. “How do you do that?” he said eventually.

  “Do what?”

  “Read so much into what I say?” Finn frowned. “You’ve been doing it all evening. It’s...it’s weird.”

  Zoe forced a laugh that sounded a little unconvincing. “You’ve told me Maeve controls minds and steals energy from people. You’re about to spend the rest of the night on the Tor watching her and you’re saying I’m weird?”

  Finn grinned wryly. “Good point.”

  A car with Tor Taxis painted in white on its door turned into the car park. Finn signalled to it. Relieved that he’d accepted her garbled explanation, Zoe tugged her jacket closer. Finn swung his pack onto his back.

  “Why are you watching Anam Cara?” she said.

  Finn pulled on a pair of black gloves. “Because it’s not over.”

  The taxi stopped next to them. Zoe put her hand on his arm. “Be careful.”

  Finn didn’t reply. His arm stretched out, he bent slightly towards her. Was he going to kiss her? Her fingers tightened around his forearm, she leaned in. His gaze slid to one side. He pulled the taxi’s door open.

  Zoe’s face flamed bright red. She swung her hair to cover it, keeping her head down as she climbed into the back seat.

  “Sleep well.” His voice was soft as the touch of a feather on her cheek. Surprised, Zoe stared up at him. She opened her mouth to respond, could think of nothing to say that didn’t sound utterly hollow.

  He closed the door. As the taxi moved, she twisted to look back. Fear clutched at her stomach as she saw him stride out of the car park and turn up the road towards the Tor.

  Chapter 14

  Zoe sank back as the taxi swung around a corner. It sped out of Glastonbury and down a succession of straight roads lined with scrubby trees to stop at the end of a narrow lane that ran behind a farmhouse to a row of converted outbuildings. The taxi driver offered to wait while she went in saying, “It’s a lonely spot at this time of night, love.”

  Zoe couldn’t have agreed more. Grateful for the taxi’s headlights, she crunched along a gravel path passing doors marked ‘Bittern’ and ‘Kestrel’. At the end of the row was Kingfisher.

  She fumbled getting the key into the lock, struggled to make it turn. When the lock clicked, she shoved the door open. Her hand patted along the wall until she found the light switch.

  Calling it a cottage was seriously overselling it. It was a square room with an en suite built into one corner. A double bed took up almost half the space with a pine wardrobe beside it. A galley kitchen filled the right wall. Grouped around the door were a sofa – the one Finn was going to sleep on, a mere two feet from the end of the bed – and a chair. A flat screen TV was screwed to the wall.

  “Cosy,” Zoe muttered, dropping her bag on the sofa. There was little evidence of Finn’s occupation. An Ordnance Survey map covered the coffee table. Today’s Guardian was abandoned on the floor by the sofa. She picked it up to see what he’d been reading. It opened at an article about global warming. She raised her eyebrows. If she was going to spend more time with him she was seriously going to have to swot up on environmental issues.

  In the tiny kitchen she found an unwashed mug and plate waiting in the sink. She opened cupboards until she found a glass and filled it with water. Returning to the sofa she switched on the TV. For a few minutes she watched a chat show where the host joked smarmily with a Hollywood actress promoting a film to be released next week.

  By then she’d be working at the cinema again. Her old life seemed a million miles away and she couldn’t imagine going back. Not ready to deal with that, she pressed the remote, returning the screen to blank silence.

  Picking up her bag, she walked to the door, checked it was locked and then retreated to the bathroom. A little later, she padded across the wooden floor in just her t-shirt and knickers, dumped her things at the side of the bed and climbed in.

  A faint scent clung to the pillow reminding her of the moment when she’d been in his arms. For one blissful second she’d thought he was stroking her hair. Obviously she’d been wrong but there was no harm, curled up in his bed, in reliving it that way, in imagining that it had turned into a kiss.

  Please let him be alright. It was all too easy to visualise him as she’d dreamt and drawn him. A lonely figure on the Tor surrounded by a wild sky. The wind rattled the windows. She pulled the duvet closer. Poor Finn, he wasn’t even coming back to a nice warm bed.

  She flicked the light back on and hopped out of bed. He’d given up his bed for her. The least she could do was make his.

  Opening the wardrobe, she saw a couple of t-shirts and a pair of trousers all with the tags on, and on the top shelf, cotton trunks and socks in their packaging. Momentarily distracted by the image of Finn in only his underwear, it took her a moment to wonder why he had so few clothes and why they were all new.

  She scanned the room again. Even for a holiday rental it was bare. In the bathroom there was only his razor and a toothbrush. No wash bag or toiletries. Where was his luggage? And the personal posse
ssions people brought with them even for a few days away?

  She peered again into the wardrobe. Behind a pair of mouldy looking boots was a zipped transparent bag with pillows, sheets and a blanket. She tugged them out and dumped them next to the sofa. As she tried to figure out how it folded flat, she wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming here. She swore as the mattress refused to lie flat, yanked hard until it capitulated.

  What did she really know about him? He’d warned her about Maeve and made sure she didn’t see them together. That had to count for something. Smoothing the fitted sheet and plumping the pillows, she figured that in the end, it came down to whom she trusted. As she’d said to Finn earlier, she trusted him. Flipping the duvet into place, she decided she’d ask him in the morning where all his things were.

  Back in bed she stared at the ceiling. She’d been so naïve, such a stupid idiot, waiting on Wearyall Hill, hoping that Finn would turn up like some romantic hero and make everything alright. If she’d known what he’d tell her would she have gone? Because he’d opened her eyes to a reality that was far weirder than she’d ever imagined.

  She’d been miles off worrying about Maeve dabbling in witchcraft. What was actually happening was far more terrifying. If she hadn’t met Finn she’d have gone back to Anam Cara tonight. And, if he was right and Maeve had guessed that she’d taken the doll, then she’d have been in big trouble. Shivering, she pulled the covers closer and eventually slipped into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  A little before one in the morning, Maeve’s suspicions crystallised. Clearly the girl would not be returning and, in that case, only one course of action remained. Throwing open her office door, she climbed the stairs. There had to be something in Zoe’s room that would reveal who or what she was.

  Unsure about what she hoped to find, Maeve searched manually this time. It was frustratingly slow to rifle through the girl’s belongings but she quelled her irritation. Turning the rucksack upside down and shaking it, Maeve accepted that the words she’d spoken to the girl last night had been entirely futile.

  She had, however, prepared for Zoe’s continuing recalcitrance. Earlier this afternoon she’d instructed Helena to clean the hidden room. Time was running out. If there was no other option, she would not hesitate to use more direct measures to get answers. Last night she’d ascertained that Zoe had no discernible power. A few hours locked in the room, with food and water in very short supply, would undoubtedly make the girl more willing to co-operate.

  She’d not contemplated that the girl wouldn’t return. To Maeve, her entire evening wasted in waiting – except for her daily trip to the cash machine to augment the funds for her new life – it was an unmistakable admission of guilt. The girl had come to Anam Cara to release the Beltane sacrifice and, with that task completed, had left. The only puzzle was why she’d not departed on Sunday night. Why stay on, playing the innocent, and risking exposure at any time?

  After opening the drawers in the bedside cabinet and finding nothing other than an elastic hair band and a packet of tissues, Maeve moved onto the wardrobe. There was some dirty washing at the bottom of it. Nose wrinkled, she rummaged through it. She checked behind the wardrobe and underneath it.

  Then she bent to look under the bed. A dark square shape lay next to the wall. Maeve reached for it and as it slid into focus she recalled Zoe carrying it when she arrived. Unzipping the portfolio, Maeve removed its contents.

  Perched on the edge of the bed, she flipped through the pictures. Most she gave only a cursory glance but four she looked at in more detail and put to one side. Then, for long moments, she studied each drawing, turning them to the light, focusing on each detail.

  Brow furrowed, she returned to the picture of a familiar figure standing next to a tower silhouetted against a storm tossed sky.

  Maeve walked to the window. The trees were hunched over by the wind. While she’d waited in her office, it’d turned into a wild night.

  She looked at the Tor. Was he up there? Could it really be that easy? She glanced down at the drawing in her hand. If the girl had come here on a rescue mission then why draw these pictures? Why leave them here to be found?

  Unless they were bait for a trap. Maeve turned and walked briskly across the room. That was a risk she was prepared to take.

  Chapter 15

  The window of Zoe’s room returned to darkness. It had been a welcome distraction to watch Maeve move around the room illuminated like an actor on a distant stage. Finn had seen her viciously shake a rucksack, yank open drawers and pull something large and flat from beneath the bed.

  She’d sat for several minutes with her back to the window. Then she’d looked up at the Tor and seconds later the light had gone out.

  Finn relaxed a little. Maeve wouldn’t be searching Zoe’s room if she didn’t suspect her. He’d made the right call in persuading her to leave. Which was a relief because he’d been doubting his motives. As well as being unhelpfully distracted by the thought of Zoe in his bed and what she was – or wasn’t - wearing.

  Now he was sure Maeve was onto Zoe, she was in the right place. And the reason he’d made the offer was irrelevant. His plan to stay away from her had been all wrong. He’d thought he was keeping her out of trouble. Instead she needed telling how much trouble she’d got herself into. His lips bent into a half smile. The information she’d given him was invaluable, especially about The Seventh Book. Just knowing that would give him and Winston an edge they very badly needed.

  But then she’d got him to talk. Worse, she had this uncanny knack of seeing behind his words. Of course, she didn’t always guess right. How could she? Yet somehow he’d still ended up telling her things he never spoke about.

  It was beside the point that she’d taken it surprisingly calmly. Opening up did not end well. Not with a secret the size of his. He knew that. He’d been there with Freya. It was pointless hoping it’d be different with Zoe.

  No matter that he liked her. Or that he owed her, big time. That if she hadn’t taken the doll on Sunday night he’d...

  He swallowed hard, shoving that thought into a drawer at the back of his mind and slamming it shut.

  Forcing his brain back to the task at hand, he raised his binoculars, caught the swing of the gate, a flash of blonde hair in the sudden glare of the security light. Maeve was on the move.

  She didn’t turn to the garage as he’d expected. Instead she set off on foot walking away from the town, quickly disappearing behind houses. Where was she going at this time of night? He focused on the few places which allowed him a view of the road. A minute later he saw her pass through one of those gaps.

  The road skirted around the base of the Tor but he knew a path climbed from it to the lower slopes. She couldn’t be heading that way, could she?

  He moved out of the shelter of the tower, felt the wind buffet him as he searched for movement below. After fruitless minutes of scanning the slope he stepped back. There was no direct route to the summit from the road. She’d either have to turn and walk around the Tor to join the path up the ridge or head the opposite way to join the steps climbing up the steep side of the hill.

  Hunching his shoulders, he zipped his fleece up to his chin and realised he was cold. The swirling energy of the Tor had been keeping him warm. Rubbing his arms, he extended his awareness to search for it. The ground beneath him felt lifeless. He couldn’t go deeper with his shield in place. Quickly he weighed the risk. Deciding that if Maeve was out walking she couldn’t be searching for him with spellwork, he released his shield.

  There was a moment of sweet relief as if he’d eased off clothes that were too tight. Forcing himself to go deeper than he’d thought possible without his staff, he located awen deep within the hill, curled in on itself, like a snail in the protection of its shell.

  For a moment he was confused and then, with an instinctive awareness, he understood. The energies of the Tor had retreated to protect themselves. They feared Maeve as he did. They knew she
approached.

  He stepped into the shelter of one of tower’s buttresses, leaned against its solid, cold bulk. How the hell had she found him? He’d been shielded all evening and, even without that, she shouldn’t have been able to locate him here. The energy of the Tor confused him and he was attuned to the earth. To Maeve, adept in spellwork, it should be a maelstrom of contradictory impulses, his energy hidden by those surrounding it.

  He snapped his shield back into place. With awen gone he was exposed. And, whatever had brought Maeve up the Tor to look for him, he was not going back. No fucking way. He’d die first.

  Abruptly, and irrationally, he thought of Zoe. Saw again her worried face as she’d told him to be careful. Wished he’d kissed her then.

  Focus.

  Slinging his pack on his back, he scanned the night. He had a clear view of the upper stretch of the path that ascended along the ridge. No one wanting to approach the top of the Tor unseen would take that route. If you wanted to surprise someone the steps that clambered up the steep side were a far better option. They were out of sight of the top for most of their ascent, coming out only a few feet from where he stood.

  If she came up the steps he’d have very little time to react and he couldn’t retreat down the path without being seen. If he saw her coming up the path, he could risk dodging down the steps if he kept low and moved fast.

  His gloved hand whipped out, slamming against the wall. He was bloody well trapped until he knew which way she was coming. Was she confident enough to risk a frontal approach up the path or would she use stealth and come up the steps? If it were him, he’d take the steps. Scouting above their route, he listened intently, scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. Jumped like a girl when a barn owl hooted.

  Moving back into the shadow of the tower he focused the binoculars on the point where the path became visible. Clouds skimmed across the sky, playing hide and seek with the waxing moon. He waited, his breath shallow, his heartbeat fast.

  A denser black emerged from the night and resolved into a figure. A hundred metres away on the path, moving steadily towards him.