An Unholy Communion

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  Antony turned to follow a small, shadowed lane leading off Nun Street. He had only gone a few strides, however, when he pulled back at the sound of angry voices ahead of him. He started to turn around when he caught a voice he was certain he recognized. “No, wait, I didn’t.” That was Michael’s voice. What was his driver involved in?

  Antony pushed himself against an angled wall as the voices got louder and he heard footsteps coming from behind the building ahead of him. “I owe you nothing. Now get lost. And don’t try this on again.” Antony peeked around the corner to make certain. Yes, the speaker was Rhys Morgan, with Michael alongside him.

  And he caught a glimpse of the muscled, tanned young man with the peroxide blond hair. Constable Owen would be interested to know that Joe Clempson, or rather, Brian Wright-Stilson was apparently demanding money in a hidden lane right here in St David’s.

  But first he must collect Felicity. Then find a phone. He had left his mobile at the retreat house. Felicity saw him coming and dashed out of Chakra Health, leaving the bells on the door tinkling behind her. She grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the minibus. “You’ll never guess who was in there.”

  Antony held the van door open for her. “Joe?”

  Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

  Antony closed her door and went around to the driver’s seat. “He was in the alley threatening Michael and Rhys Morgan.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser.” Felicity leaned over and kissed him. “By the way, I feel great. That massage was amazing.”

  “Wonderful,” he said. “But now, tell me.”

  “I was in the massage room, all cozy under heated sheets, dim lights, nice smells, New Age music—” She held up a hand. “Don’t say it. I know—not compatible. But you didn’t expect them to be playing hymns, did you? Anyway, the point is, while I was waiting for Marissa I heard this voice in the hall. I was almost certain it was Joe. He wanted to know where Anne was. Sounded really angry,” she paused. “No, not angry. Desperate, when Marissa said she didn’t know. Then Marissa came in and I asked her who that was. She called him Evan. Apparently Rhys wants Anne to give him a job in the shop. Marissa said they don’t really have any work for him, but Anne doesn’t want to turn him away because he’s Rhys’s nephew.”

  “And you’re sure it was Joe?”

  “Fairly sure. I only heard his voice that one night in the pub.”

  “Right.” Antony drove back to the retreat house, anxious to ring Constable Owen to tell her of this new development, and to enquire if there was news of Lydia.

  He had just turned into the lane leading to St Non’s, however, when he recognized the narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped figure striding ahead of him. He pulled up alongside and rolled down his window. “Want a ride?”

  Lydia slipped into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

  Antony put the minibus into gear. “I must say, I’m glad to see you. We were worried when you disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? What an ominous word. I went shopping.”

  Antony frowned at the explanation, since she carried no packages, but that was a minor detail compared to Adam’s continued absence. “Lydia, I’m afraid I have some bad news. The police were here while you were gone. It seems that phone call you received about Adam was a fake. Your father—”

  “My father!” She swallowed. “What do you mean a fake? Where’s Squib?”

  Antony stopped outside the retreat house, and before he could answer, Lydia was out of the vehicle, punching the keys on her mobile, apparently anxious to get hold of her father.

  Later, Antony still felt no clearer about what was going on as he and Felicity walked into town to attend the Restoration Committee meeting at the Morganses home. Late afternoon was the loveliest time on the headland, with the westering sun turning all the landscape to gold, the lengthening shadows lending a sense of quiet peace. But Antony felt no peace. The golden shrubs seemed sharp-edged, and the shadows felt ominous.

  He had been looking forward to the walk as a time to talk through events with Felicity, but even though they walked hand in hand, she seemed distant, distracted. And it got no better when they entered the cream and white Georgian house on New Street.

  “Ah, Father, welcome. I’m so glad you’ve come.” Anne Morgan put a crystal sherry glass in his hand, and pulled him into the room filled with people chatting in small groups. It had far more the feeling of a cocktail party than a committee meeting. Anne steered him around the room, introducing him to various committee members: a tall, thin woman named Clarissa, who was wearing a very short skirt; a man in a red shirt and maroon trousers with a name starting with T; a fat woman he had difficulty stepping around… He quickly lost track of the names. The sherry was sickly sweet and the room overheated. For the life of him, Antony couldn’t remember why he had agreed to come. Something to do with Hwyl, but the connection seemed tenuous now. He caught a glimpse of Felicity across the room, talking to Rhys Morgan. Perhaps she would learn something useful.

  At last Rhys called the meeting to order. Antony started to sink into a small sofa at the back of the room, thinking there would be room for Felicity to sit beside him, but Anne grabbed his arm and guided him across the thick Persian carpet to a chair next to her by the fireplace. Antony caught Felicity’s eye. She raised her glass of cranberry juice in salute with what looked like an amused smile at his having been ambushed.

  Rhys presented the group with impressive charts showing an architect’s concept of the restored Bishop’s Palace and projections of the income that would be brought into St David’s by pilgrimage groups and conventions, then asked for reports from various committee chairs on the progress of fundraising and planning permission. The numbers jumbled in Antony’s head. A tiny trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck. Antony had never been uncomfortable in a clerical collar, but tonight it felt like a thrall’s neck ring.

  At the conclusion of the meeting Anne turned to him, radiant with rays of the sinking sun through the window lighting her smoothly coiled hair. “Inspiring, isn’t it? Rhys is so far-sighted.” She placed a hand briefly on Antony’s arm. “I do hope you’ve caught the vision, Father Antony, because we—well, Rhys, really, of course, but he doesn’t mind my speaking for him—we are so hoping you’ll agree to fill Hwyl’s place on the committee.”

  Antony frowned. Could he have heard her right? “Me? But I don’t live here.”

  Anne was unfazed. “Oh, that’s part of the point. Our members are really quite far-flung. I’m sure you realize that if our efforts are to succeed, they need a broad base. International, even.”

  “Yes. Well, it’s an honor to be asked. I’ll need to think about it.” He hoped he didn’t show the desperation he was feeling as he turned toward the door. “We really must be getting back to St Non’s… Responsible for our pilgrims…” Were his words slurring?

  “Oh, now, Father, you don’t think you’re going to escape us that easily, do you? You must stay for supper. Just a few select members of the committee. They’re all anxious to meet you.”

  Antony’s head was ringing. He couldn’t form an answer.

  “That’s so kind of you, Mrs Morgan. I know Father Antony would love to get better acquainted with your group. You really are so well organized.” Felicity’s voice was clear and firm as she gripped his arm with both hands, steadying him.

  “Wonderful. And you’re invited, too, of course, my dear.”

  “Thank you so much. We would be delighted another time. Unfortunately, I just received a text. One of our pilgrims went missing a few days ago, and the police are waiting at the retreat center to talk to us.”

  “Oh, how terrible. But surely—”

  Antony moved slowly in obedience to Felicity’s tug on his arm, his feet feeling ensnared in the pile of the carpet. Felicity shoved him out the door. The fresh, early evening breeze revived him a bit. Antony took a deep, wavering breath, expelled it and repeated the process. He still felt confused, but at least he could
breathe. “What happened in there? There must have been something in my drink.” He took one more deep breath. “What do you mean text from the police? You don’t even carry a mobile.”

  Felicity grinned. “Quick thinking, huh? I didn’t think Sister Alma’s name would carry the same weight, and I needed to talk to you.”

  “Hmm?” Antony followed Felicity’s guiding down the street. He felt he was walking through treacle.

  “Are you all right? What did Anne want of you? What did you think of Rhys’s presentation? Can you walk any faster?”

  “I don’t know.” That answered it all. “What did you think?”

  She waited to answer until they were through town and back on the lane to the retreat house. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Two of those committee members—the fat blonde woman and the tall, skinny one with the freaked-out hair—of course it was covered by a hood before—but I’m really sure… Well, pretty sure—” Felicity talked so fast he was only getting one word in every two or three.

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you listening? I know you don’t feel good. I suppose you’re coming down with that cold I had. I’ll call Marissa and book you in for a massage tomorrow, but try to concentrate. This is really important. I’m convinced some of those women were part of that witch’s coven thing we saw in the cave—especially the tall one. Not just her height—the way she swayed when she moved. And, listen, now that I saw him again—standing in front, leading the group—I’m sure Rhys Morgan was their leader. He had the same commanding presence. Like he expected people to kneel down to him.”

  Rhys Morgan? Leading a coven of witches and warlocks? Even in his enervated state, that seemed laughable to Antony. “He’s one of the most respected men in the city.”

  “Right. Powerful, a real leader. Just what a group like that would need. Or maybe just what he needs. You’re the one who’s always saying there’s real power in that stuff.”

  Antony just nodded and concentrated on continuing to breathe deeply. The closer they got to the bay the fresher and saltier the air became. It was exactly what he needed. When the path branched up to the house, he steered Felicity to the lower walk along the cliff. “Let’s not go in yet.”

  “I should call Constable Owen. Tell her about those women.”

  “Ten minutes won’t matter. The sea air is helping. I’m feeling much clearer.” As he said it he realized how much better. The walking-in-treacle feeling was gone. His steps felt light. He began to stride along the path as if he had wings on his heels.

  “Isn’t this amazing! I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I love this walk.” Felicity skipped on ahead of him as the path was too narrow to walk side by side.

  Yes, he was feeling amazingly refreshed. It must have just been that overheated room filled with chattering people. The sun was almost setting now, gilding the tops of the cliffs a gleaming gold, and leaving the stones of the sheer rock face below them a menacing black as they disappeared into the surf at their feet.

  The mat of green vegetation ran like a thick, verdant carpet from the path and smoothed the way over the precipice. Pink, white and yellow wildflowers grew in cascading tendrils down the cliff face like a colorful waterfall. He stepped off the path, drawn by the beauty of the scene, the amazing contrasts of the softness of the flowering vegetation and the harshness of the jagged rocks; the golden brilliance of the light, the Stygian darkness of the shadows, the stillness of the air, the crashing surf.

  And then it was the sound, rather than the sight that overwhelmed him. The mesmerizing rhythm of the waves beating, beating, beating on the rocks; the call of the seabirds soaring over the water harmonizing with the buzz of insects drinking nectar of the flowers; the vibration of the breeze, rustling the grasses at his feet, calling him onward. Come, come. Float with the birds. Soar. Come…

  An inch closer. Antony looked down. Straight down. The water swirled, making delightful patterns, washing the rocks, splashing, foaming like lace. Laughing, singing. Come, come, come. He took another step forward. It was all so clear, so right. To be one with the breeze. One with the birds and the salt spray. One with the universe…

  “Antony!” Felicity’s arms closed around him, pulling him back from the brink.

  Chapter 27

  Tuesday

  St David’s

  The midmorning sun glittered on the bay spread before them as Antony and Felicity sat on the bench along the wall of St Non’s. As breathtaking as the scene spread before them was, Antony had no desire to get any closer to it. He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them wide just for the sheer relief of being able to do so. To be able to look, to breathe, to think. Had he really come as close to dying as Felicity’s account made it sound? His own memory was a vague muddle of walking with weights on his feet, then wanting to fly. All followed by a splitting headache which he had only partially slept off.

  He shifted on the bench to push his back more firmly against the solid boards. “Did I say thank you for saving my life?”

  Felicity squeezed his hand. “My pleasure. Any time. But what happened?”

  Antony shook his head. “I’m not sure. I keep going over it in my mind, but it’s pretty much a fog. I felt good, I remember that. Great, actually. Like a king. Or a god. Invincible.”

  “And drawn to the edge?” Felicity added.

  “Oh, yes, definitely that.” He shuddered.

  “Like Hwyl?”

  Antony turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not sure, but if you had gone over the edge no one could have proved it wasn’t suicide or an accident, could they?”

  He shook his head. “I suppose not. Unless they had done some sort of drug testing. If drugs were involved. I don’t know what happened. Or almost happened. But I’m awfully thankful it didn’t.”

  “No more thankful than I am.” Felicity scooted even closer to him on the bench and gave his arm a squeeze with both hands. “But whatever it was—do you think that’s what happened to Hwyl?”

  “It would explain a lot. If it was, it means he went off that tower thinking life was beautiful and that he could be one with the birds.”

  “So he wasn’t pushed?”

  “Pulled, is more like it.”

  “Do you think it was drugs—or something more… er— inexplicable?”

  “You’re still not comfortable naming evil, are you?” He looked at her fondly. “But absolutely, whether it was drugs or a spell or some other type of mind control, it was definitely evil. Hwyl knew something someone didn’t want him to tell me or anyone else.”

  “Well, if drugs were involved, Joe could be the link. And what a cover it would be for Joe to work in a herbalist shop if he’s dealing drugs.” Felicity was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Yes. I’d like to get a closer look at the storeroom behind Chakra Health. You really should get a massage for that cold you’re coming down with.”

  “I’m not…” Antony started.

  “Look, I’m sure Rhys is behind all this somehow. What a perfect set-up—get drugs from his nephew, and hide them in his wife’s herbalist shop.”

  “Well, I suppose so.” It all seemed pretty circumstantial to Antony.

  “And something else. I really hate to say this, but Michael—”

  “What about Michael?”

  “Well, if he was in the alley with Rhys and Joe, like you said, he must be involved somehow. I mean, he helped take Adam back to school—or wherever it was he disappeared from.”

  “Felicity, you can’t be saying you think Michael kidnapped Adam.”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just think the drugs angle needs to be investigated. And Michael questioned more closely.”

  “I agree. I’ll call Constable Owen.”

  Felicity hesitated. “But don’t the police need some kind of evidence to get a search warrant? If we can get some evidence for her, then Constable Owen can take over from there.”

  Antony opened
his mouth, but his argument was interrupted by a sneeze.

  “Right.” Felicity jumped to her feet. “A lymphatic drainage massage for you. Essential oils all over your body, feather-like strokes from Marissa’s tensile fingers. You’ll love it.”

  “Felicity. I really don’t—” But she was off.

  Half an hour later, Antony was quietly reading when a whole delegation entered the library. “Your first herbal massage! That is so totally cool. You’ll love it, Father A.” Kaylyn shook her shaggy, kohl-black hair and curved her black-lined lips into a smile.

  “And a whole shopful of crystals! I’m, like, totally into crystals,” Evie added. “Let’s buy one and hang it in St Non’s Well, huh, Jared?” The chubby Goth looked up at her lanky, redhaired companion, the slightest pink tinge staining her chalk-white cheeks.

  “Sure, if you like. Whatever, really.”

  “Felicity, what is this?” Antony came to his feet.

  “Nothing,” Felicity protested with an innocence he knew she never possessed. “I told them we were going into town and they wanted to come along. I couldn’t see why not. They can just browse around the shop a bit.”

  Antony looked at her through narrowed eyes. “You mean Kaylyn and Evie can distract anyone in the shop while Jared, who knows something about drugs, slips into the storeroom.”

  “Antony! What a brilliant plan. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “No way.” He grasped her arm harder than he intended to. He forced his fingers to loosen a bit as he turned to the others with a steely look. “Out. Everybody. Felicity and I need to talk.”

  As soon as they were alone he turned Felicity to him with both hands. He wanted to be gentle, but he had to get his point across to her. “This has gone far enough. I’m not having any more of your dabbling in this… this—whatever’s going on.”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off. “And I’m certainly not going into that shop and lay down like some kind of sacrificial lamb. And I will not endanger our teens by taking them there. We’ll ring Constable Owens and tell her everything we know and what we suspect. The authorities can make of it what they will. They’ll have to get their own proof.”