by Alys West
“Do you need someone to take you to the hospital? I’ve only got the bike but I can be there…”
Even though he couldn’t see it, Jenna shook her head. “It’s not that. What happened… it doesn’t feel right. The storm came out of nowhere. The full works, thunder, lightning, torrential rain. And the wind was like nothing I’ve ever known and we get wind in Orkney.”
“Not here. It’s a bit breezy but it’s been sunny all morning. Still is.”
“Where are you?”
“At my B&B. Up by the Distillery.”
“But that’s only a mile away.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “You think our spellworker from Maeshowe had a hand in this?” It was barely a question.
For a second, Jenna closed her eyes. It was such a relief to have someone around who understood. “Yes, yes I do. And look, I’m sorry. I should have helped when you wanted…”
He cut through the apology. “Tell me later. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Great, thanks.”
There was silence on the end of the line. She expected Winston to ring off, was about to move the mobile from her ear when he said quietly, “And Jenna?”
“Yes?”
“Stop being bloody brave and get yourself to the hospital.”
She swallowed, managed one word, “Okay.”
“I’ll ring you later.”
***
Staff in hand, Winston joined the crowd of onlookers filling the pavement outside the Cathedral. An ambulance was parked on the road, a police car next to it. A constable was using blue and white tape to cordon off the area around the Cathedral, enclosing the place where the stone had fell. Another uniformed officer stood at the top of the stairs leading up to the west door. Her face was impassive, her stance wide.
The hole in the stained-glass window was larger than he’d anticipated. It looked like the whole of the middle pane had fallen inwards leaving only stubs of bent metal clinging to the stonework. Looking higher, he saw that the right pinnacle had broken off, leaving only a short stump. When he compared it to the one on the left, saw its height and the conical stone on the top, he blinked. He was damned glad he hadn’t been around when it fell. It could easily have killed someone.
Next to him, a woman greeted a friend, asked if she knew if Amy and her family were alright. Other people seemed simply drawn to watch events unfold. Exclamations and surprise, theories as to what had happened filtered through the group. Underneath the chatter was a cold thrill of fear, manifest in the subdued voices and shocked faces.
Winston moved away from the crowd. Their swell of emotions would make it hard to concentrate as he channelled awen. Slipping through the open gate of the kirkyard, he leaned against the railings and looked up. The Cathedral was built of red sandstone, the carving weathered by perpetual exposure to the Orkney winds. Norman arched windows lined the walls with the magnificent rose window above them. The tower was topped with a grey spire pointing into a mass of dark grey clouds.
As he’d got closer to town, it had begun raining heavily and the wind had picked up. His leather jacket was dripping, his jeans soaked. He scanned the sky. Clouds massed over the town but to the south there were cobalt blue skies.
What had happened here? Was it a terrible accident caused by freak weather? Or was Jenna right and magic had created this?
Pressing his staff against the ground, he closed his eyes and felt the connection to awen. It was weaker here than at Maeshowe and the other Neolithic sites on the island. When the stream of energy pulsed through his veins, everything felt sharper, clearer, brighter. Opening his eyes, he reached out with his mind, trying to sense the energy around him. Power shimmered at the edge of his vision but concentrated on his left. He turned that way, seeking the source. The shimmering intensified into a kind of heat haze around the entrance to the Orkney Museum.
When he reached it, he drew more awen, felt a tingle in the air like the charge in the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Jenna was spot on. Someone had conjured this up. And he’d lay good money on it being the same person who’d been at Maeshowe. After all, what were the odds of there being two out-of-control spellworkers on these islands?
Striding down Broad Street he followed the trail of destruction. The hanging baskets outside The Fiddlers were splattered all over the pavement. Wheelie bins were toppled onto their sides, contents spilling into the road. The windows of the chemist and the bookshop were broken with glass scattered over the paving slabs. Water gurgled in the gutters as leaves swirled around, torn from the tree in the centre of the street. Through the window of the coffee shop, he saw a waitress clutching a first-aid kit as she treated an elderly man with a head wound. A man hurried out from the Co-op, glanced at the sky and retreated again.
Reaching the road that ran past the harbour he scanned up and down. Everything looked normal. With the trail suddenly going cold, he tapped his staff to the ground and reached out with awen again. Narrowing his eyes, he saw the same haziness at the end of the pier.
Picking up his pace, he jogged along it. A burly fisherman carrying a rod passed him. A few steps later a couple dressed in expensive waterproofs strolled past. Slowing, Winston focused on the woman’s face. They looked like they’d just stepped off a yacht but he wouldn’t discount anyone. Not yet. As he drew closer to the end a red Ford Focus drove by. He peered through the windscreen but could only see a slight figure in a baseball cap.
Reaching the end of the pier, he looked around. The clouds were clearing. Sunlight peeked through casting a trail of light across the sea. Again he drew on awen. The energy was around him but it was dissipating. He had a sense of it returning to the waves and the sky. He frowned. That wasn’t how spellworker magic worked. What was this? Focusing, he sent his awareness out again but it was like trying to catch fog. After long minutes, sweat drenched his face. Blowing out a breath, he stopped.
He’d lost them. Somewhere between the Cathedral and here they’d disappeared. But he was absolutely certain the spellworker – if that’s what they were – had been here. The trails of energy were almost as strong as they’d been outside the Museum. Had she left before he arrived? Or was she one of the people he’d seen leaving the pier? Spellworkers were predominantly, but not exclusively, women. He found it hard to believe it was the woman in the expensive yachting gear, but it could have been a girl driving the car.
Cursing himself for not noticing the number plate, he walked back towards the town. Halfway down, he tugged his mobile from his jacket pocket. He needed to tell Jenna she’d been right.
***
After shutting the taxi door, Hal stood back. Jenna had been very brave while they’d stitched her arm but he could tell, partly by the death grip she’d had on his hand throughout, that it’d been really painful. Seeing how pale she was when they’d finished, he’d offered to take her home but she’d told him his family needed him. He waved as the taxi turned the corner. Stepping back inside the hospital his smile faded. He’d asked her to come to the wedding in the hope of cheering her up, giving her a break from the grind of working and caring for her dad. And when she’d walked through the door of the Cathedral, he thought it had worked. She looked incredible. Better than she had in years. Almost like the night the band played in Newcastle, when she’d stepped onto the stage as if a light was inside her.
His mind shied away from that. He couldn’t think about back then.
He scanned the main waiting area, saw Uncle Dougie slumped in the chair where he’d been an hour or so before. In kilt, waistcoat and jacket he looked ridiculously out of place. Hal had taken his jacket off at some point back at the Cathedral. There was blood on his shirt and down his kilt from where he’d helped one of the guests. There was no way he was going to get his deposit back from the kilt hire place.
“Any news?” he asked, sitting down beside his uncle.
“The doctors are still with Duncan. They’ve taken him to the Acute Ward. Amy’s in the assessment ward. Th
ey say she’s in shock. Kenny’s with her.”
“Where’s Auntie Iris?” Hal asked.
“She took your Gran home. Your folks went with them.”
“Good. Gran should never have come to the hospital. I tried to tell her.”
Dougie shrugged. “You know your grandmother.”
“There’s still some people in casualty. I’ll go have a word with them if there’s nothing I can do here. See if they need anything.”
“I’m sorry, lad.” Dougie’s hand briefly touched Hal’s shoulder. “When we asked you to be an usher we didn’t think you’d be ushering folk around the hospital.”
“You couldn’t have known. No one could.”
“Aye,” his uncle said. Hal could tell he didn’t believe him.
As he walked down the corridor back to the casualty ward, his mobile vibrated in his sporran. He tugged it out, saw a message from Cassie. “Hope you’re having a great day. Really wish I was there! Miss you! Send pics.” The message ended with two emojis blowing kisses.
Staring at the screen, he rubbed his hand over his hair. There was no way he could explain. No words to express how the day had switched from happiness to horror in moments. Each time he stopped his mind replayed those few seconds; the stone bursting through the window, the noise as it crashed into the floor, tiny shards of glass ricocheting out like deadly rain, the second of deathly hush before Amy started to scream.
Slipping the mobile back into his sporran, he shoved open the door to the casualty ward.
Chapter 12
A loud knocking woke Jenna. Blearily, she opened her eyes and rolled off the sofa. How long had she been asleep? She glanced at her wrist but her watch wasn’t there. Instead there was the white bulk of the bandage. When she’d got home, she’d changed out of her blood-stained dress and then curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea. She’d been watching an old episode of Agatha Christie’s Marple but, as she’d no idea who’d been murdered, she must have fallen asleep pretty much straight away.
Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she switched off the TV before heading for the front door and swinging it open. Her eyes widened. How did he even know where she lived?
“Hello,” she said, deeply aware that her hair was a mess, her makeup probably smeared over her face and she was wearing baggy sweatpants and her old Edinburgh University hoodie which was fraying at the cuffs.
“I’ve been trying to ring you all afternoon.” Winston frowned. “Are you alright?”
With a quiet sigh, Jenna gestured for him to come in. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked, following her into the living area.
Jenna glanced around; crumpled blanket on the sofa, clothes waiting to be ironed in the laundry basket, books and last week’s The Orcadian piled on a chair, socks drying over the radiator, and winced. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit woozy from the painkillers the hospital gave me.” Automatically, she filled the kettle and switched it on. It was too much of an effort to wait for the coffee maker to heat up. If he wanted coffee, he’d have to make do with instant.
“Did you need stitches?” He rested his druid’s staff next to the door.
Cradling her arm to her chest, she said, “Seven.”
Winston took a step closer, filling her tiny kitchen. Abruptly, she wasn’t sure where to look. “That’s crap,” he said. “Did they hurt?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t stop her eyes filling with tears.
“How are you holding up otherwise? It looked bad at the Cathedral. I couldn’t get close but from what I saw it’s a miracle no one died.”
“It was horrible. I don’t know if Duncan will make it. He looked pretty bad. And the glass went everywhere. Poor Amy, she was just standing there as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing and folk were screaming and Duncan was lying on the ground and there was blood. So much blood. I should have helped you. We knew there was someone with power on the islands. If we’d started looking for her before this, maybe it wouldn’t…” She broke off on a half sob.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Then Winston’s arms were around her, hugging her. She tried to pull away but he didn’t let go and then the pain and fear morphed in tears. He didn’t say anything, simply stroked her shoulders as she cried.
When she stepped back, wiping her eyes she couldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Quickly, she pulled mugs from the shelves of the dresser. “Tea or coffee?”
“Coffee. Black, no sugar. And it’s fine. What are friends for?”
Taking the jar of instant from the cupboard, she glanced at him. Friends? Is that what they were now? “Well, thanks.” She handed a mug to Winston before heading towards the sitting area. Dropping onto the blanket she’d been asleep under (hopefully he’d think it was some kind of throw) she gestured for him to move the stuff cluttering the chair. The rest of it he’d have to put up with. If he’d let her know he was coming, she’d have at least managed to tidy up.
Curling her feet up under her, she said, “How did you know where I live?”
For a fleeting second, she thought he looked embarrassed. “When I couldn’t get hold of you, I was worried. I rang Paul and he told me.”
“Oh,” was all she could manage. She should be angry. It was exactly the kind of overbearing action which usually irritated her, but it was too much effort. Only she did hate him seeing her like this. “I must look like shit.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them and braced herself for an obviously insincere response.
“You do a bit.” Shrugging his arms out of his leather jacket, he pushed up the sleeves on his black top.
Jenna snorted out a laugh. “Thanks.”
“You did ask.”
“I didn’t expect you to agree with me.”
“Always expect the unexpected.” The maddening grin flashed across his face, except it wasn’t quite as maddening this time. Winston took a sip of coffee. “And you were right by the way. Someone was using magic.” Leaning forward, he filled her in on what he’d found, finishing with his suspicions about the people he’d seen leaving the pier.
“You’re absolutely certain she didn’t make a hasty exit before you got there?”
“Have you seen the length of that thing? It must take ten minutes to walk from the end. When I got there, I could feel the energy they’d created. They can’t have been long gone.”
Jenna smiled weakly at his indignation. “Yes, but they could have had a car and left before you got there. Or hidden in the ferry terminal. Did you check there?”
“Shit, no. Is it big?”
“Not in a Dover to Calais kind of way but there’s a waiting room and toilets. Enough space for someone to hide if they saw you coming.”
“These bloody little islands! There’s always something I’d never have thought of.”
The laugh escaped her lips before she’d thought about it. “You’ll get used to it. You’re here for another two months, aren’t you?”
“About that. I’ve a couple of trips back to Glasgow planned but otherwise I’m here until the dig finishes at the end of August.”
“It won’t be that bad. You’ve a spellworker to catch now.”
“Did you mean what you said? Do you want to help?”
She should have known he would get straight to the point, wouldn’t tiptoe around her because she was injured. “Yes.”
“You could get hurt.”
“I already am hurt!”
“I know that. But it could be worse next time. I’ll try to keep you safe but I can’t promise you’ll be alright. Whoever this person is, she’s got some power.”
“I do know that. I was at the Cathedral, remember? I saw what happened.”
“And you still want in?”
“I don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t.” Jenna shrugged and then winced when pain shot through her arm.
He frowned. “You alright?”
“Think the painkillers must be wearing off
. What time is it?”
Slipping his mobile from the inside pocket of his jacket, he glanced at it. “Nearly six. Why?”
“Because I can only take them every four hours. Let me know when it’s half six, will you?” Then she frowned. “Don’t you have a watch?”
“Watches and druids don’t mix.”
“I’ve never heard that before. Are you sure it’s not just you?”
“It’s the same for Finn. He can’t wear one either.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s something to do with energy. All I know is that they stop when they get too close to me.”
“Oh.” Jenna pushed her hair back with her good hand. Her eyes slid closed for a second and she forced them back open to see Winston staring into his coffee cup.
“What if it was one of the people I saw on the pier?” he asked.
“We can’t rule out the men. I know it’s less likely but there are male spellworkers.”
“Yeah.” Winston grimaced. “And a bloody screwed up lot they are too.”
“That’s a bit of a mass generalisation.”
“Is it? Show me someone who’ll disprove it?”
“Well, I only know Luke Fenwick and he’s not exactly—”
“Grace’s nephew?” Winston arched an eyebrow at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Trust me, compared to some of the others, Luke’s Mr Well-Adjusted.”
“No way!” Laughing made her feel better, made the pain recede a little. “I mean I like Luke but he’s been in so much trouble. He nearly landed in prison a couple of years before Mum died. I’m sure Grace did some kind of spell to get the magistrates to go easy on him.”
“He’s lucky to have Grace as his aunt. Not everyone with magic gets that kind of support.” Winston leaned forward, toned forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “But we’re not here to talk about Luke or male spellworkers. If it was one of the two women, my money’s on the girl in the car.”
