by Candace Camp
“No.” Lilah joined him at the edge of the triangular stone slab on which the sundial sat.
Con squatted down and pushed aside the creeping strands of ivy. A figure of three spirals fused into a triangular shape was carved into the corner. He tore more ivy away to reveal the carving repeated at regular intervals around the edge. Con ran a fingertip around one of the spirals.
“The mystical number of three,” he murmured. “Look. One at each of the three corners, two more along each side, making a total of nine—three times three.”
“They’re triskeles,” Lilah told him. “They’re on some ancient artifacts found in this area. I believe the spirals represent eternity. I suppose three is the Holy Trinity.” She wrinkled her brow. “Though I think the artifacts are older than Christianity.”
Lilah glanced around her. The looming hedges cast too many shadows; the walls felt like a prison. “Con, there’s no reason to stay here. I’m tired.”
“What?” Con turned. “Oh. Yes, of course.” They started back the way they had come. “Something about this place bothers you. What is it that makes that little pulse in your throat jump? I dare not hope it’s excitement at being around me.”
“I assure you, it has nothing to do with you.” Lilah sent him a repressive look.
Con grinned. “You’re a harsh woman, Delilah.”
“Would you please not call me that?”
“I like it. It fairly rolls off the tongue. Dilly, now, is rather charming, but it doesn’t have the same grand effect.”
“If you start calling me Dilly, I swear I will lure you down to the dungeons and lock you up.”
“So there are dungeons. We’ll have to try them next.”
Lilah laughed. “You do remember we are here to search Sabrina’s house, don’t you?”
They had reached the entrance to the maze, but Con grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the shelter of the hedges. “When you laugh like that, I have the devil of a time sticking to my promise.”
Lilah’s heart began to thunder in a way that had nothing to do with the maze. She watched his eyes darken, saw his mouth curve wickedly. She knew as he bent toward her that he was about to kiss her. And that she was not going to pull away.
“Lilah?” Aunt Vesta’s voice floated through the air. “Where are you, dear? It’s time for a cup of tea, don’t you think?”
Con murmured something under his breath that Lilah was sure she should be glad she couldn’t understand, and his hand fell away from her.
“Yes, Aunt, I know,” she called. “We’re coming.”
“It’s such a lovely day.” Aunt Vesta smiled at Con, pouring the tea as they approached. “I have felt the ancient power of the earth all day. Can’t you sense it?”
“No,” Lilah said quickly. “I’ve been showing Lord Moreland around.”
“The maze,” Aunt Vesta sent Lilah a sly look. “Couples often enjoy a walk there.”
Lilah caught her aunt’s meaning, and she began to blush. A glance at Con told her that he, too, understood her aunt’s implication, though he, of course, just grinned.
“Do you know who built the maze, Miss Holcutt?” Con asked Aunt Vesta, reaching out to take the cup she offered.
“It’s Mrs. LeClaire, dear. I am a widow, you see.” She gave him a wistful smile. “Poor dear Henri.”
“I beg your pardon. Mrs. LeClaire.” He frowned, looking thoughtful.
“I told Con that I didn’t know which of our ancestors installed the maze. Do you, Aunt Vesta?”
“No, it’s been there for...oh, ages and ages. Dear Papa loved it. He would often go there to contemplate life. But he didn’t create it. I believe he put in the little area in the center—the bench and so on.”
“He placed the sundial?” Con asked. “I was very interested in those figures in the stone around it.”
“Yes, yes.” Vesta nodded her head as if Con had made a telling point. “Triskeles. They are very powerful symbols. I believe Papa had a connection with the Other Side, too.”
“I thought Con and I would take a ride tomorrow morning.” Early. Before Aunt Vesta arose.
“How delightful! There are so many important sites to show him. That ancient barrow. And Holy Well, though that’s perhaps too far. You’d have to have Cook pack you a lunch.”
“Holy Well?” Con asked, looking interested.
“Yes, it’s said that Joseph of Arimathea visited there, but of course Glastonbury was a sacred place to the ancients long before that.”
“Ah...the Holy Grail,” Con said.
Lilah suppressed a sigh. At least they were off the subject of the Other Side.
“Then you know about it!” Vesta cried with delight.
“Indeed. The legend is that Joseph of Arimathea sailed here to Britain and buried the holy chalice at Glastonbury Tor.”
“Yes. Some say that Glastonbury Tor was the isle of Avalon, where King Arthur was borne on his funeral barge, but of course that is all nonsense.”
“Is it?” Con leaned in, food forgotten on his plate.
Vesta nodded emphatically. “Glastonbury Tor was once an island, but it wasn’t Avalon. It was the Western Isle, where dead souls traveled to meet their reward.”
Lilah cleared her throat. “We aren’t going to the Holy Well. We’re planning to ride to Carmoor.”
“Carmoor!” Aunt Vesta stared at her. “But why? It’s just a house.” She looked over at Con. “There are so many more interesting places around here. There’s the Faerie Track. That’s not far.”
“The Faerie Track? I’ve never heard of that.”
Vesta nodded. “Yes, some call it the Fae Path or the Silver Way—it’s said it gleams silver to those who have the ability to ‘see.’ It’s ancient, very ancient. A safe passage through the bogs.”
“We are going to Carmoor,” Lilah reiterated firmly. “Con has business there. His brother, you know, is married to Sabrina, and Con is here to monitor the house for them. To make sure everything is all right.”
“Little Sabrina. Such a sweet child.” Vesta sighed. “I so missed the two of you.”
Lilah bit back the words that rose in her throat. Then why did you stay away for nine years?
“Miss Holcutt is correct,” Con said. “But I look forward to exploring this area. It seems to be a very special place.”
“Con... I...um—”
Vesta nodded enthusiastically. “It is indeed. It has been a place of power for thousands of years. The old ones knew this. Glastonbury Tor, you know, forms a triangle with Stonehenge and the standing stones at Avebury. And, of course, three...”
“Is a mystical number,” Con finished.
Vesta waved her hand around vaguely. “The paths all run through here.”
“Like this track you mentioned, the Fae Path?”
“There are no paths,” Lilah said flatly. “Aunt Vesta, please...” Did her aunt not realize, did she not see, how foolish she appeared? But Con, of course, would encourage her.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean the Faerie Track.” Vesta leaned forward, happy to expound. “Although it must lie atop one. I’m talking about the channels in the earth. The power that lies beneath us. It courses in Lines, many Lines, from Cornwall to London and beyond. From the Channel into Scotland. It is mystical power.”
“Mystical power?” Con asked encouragingly.
“Yes. One can almost feel it pulsing beneath one’s feet. Some people call it magic, which is sheer foolishness. The Lines are the connection to the Source. It’s the essence of life. Most people cannot feel it, never realize it. But those of us who have ability, we know.” She reached over and patted Con’s hand. “You feel it. You have the ability.”
“No, I fear not,” Con replied.
“Oh, you do.” She wagged a playful finger at him. “You just haven’t realized it yet. B
ut I can sense it in you.”
“Tell me more about these Lines. They come from Glastonbury Tor?”
“As I told you, it’s an ancient holy place. A multitude of channels course through it. Glastonbury is a crossroads, a place of power, but it’s not the source of it. That comes from the earth itself and spans the globe.” She held up her hands in a circle, fingertips interlacing. “A web, you see. One can draw on the power from anywhere, but it is stronger when you are on a strand of the web. And it is very mighty at one of the hubs.” She paused. “That is why I returned.”
Lilah tightened all over, her hands knotting into fists in her lap, but she could think of no way to stop her aunt.
“Because this area is powerful?” Con asked.
Aunt Vesta leaned forward, confiding, “Because Barrow House is.” She tapped the table. “This land beneath us. We sit on a tor, smaller by far than Glastonbury but a crossroads nevertheless. Many lines intersect here. Long ago, I didn’t understand what fueled my abilities. I thought it all lay within me.” She smiled deprecatingly. “Vanity of course. I left here, full of pride, emboldened by my success. But I learned I didn’t have the same power anywhere else. I was still connected to the spirits of course. I could call on them and they would answer. But it wasn’t the same.”
“Aunt Vesta, no, please...” Lilah wasn’t sure what she pleaded for. She held her hand against her roiling stomach, as if she could keep it all locked in. She could not bring herself to look at Con.
Vesta paid no attention to her as she rolled on. “But finally, I understood. I held great ability because I was born here, atop this hub, this center. That was why I was able to use the power to such an extent. That was why I could call forth Brockminster and he would respond.”
“Brockminster?” Con straightened. “Elmont Brockminster? Good Lord—you’re Madame LeClaire!”
Aunt Vesta beamed. “Yes. Dear boy, how astonishing that you remember!”
“How could I not? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your name at once. The Brockminster Séance was a sensation.”
“It was astonishing,” Vesta agreed. “You cannot imagine what power surged through me. It was like ice and fire all at once. That was when I knew, really knew, what I was capable of.”
“Stop!” Lilah shoved back her chair so hard it almost toppled over. Her face was stark white, her eyes full of storm. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Anger and resentment choked her throat. She knew she was making a bad scene even worse, but Lilah couldn’t stop herself. With an inarticulate cry, she turned and ran from the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“LILAH—” CON JUMPED to his feet, alarmed at the look on Lilah’s face. “Lilah, wait.” He took a step toward her, but she was already gone. Con muttered a curse beneath his breath and started after her.
“Don’t,” Vesta told him, reaching out. “Let her have a little time alone. It’s never wise to push Dilly.”
Con hesitated. Her aunt was probably right. He had enough experience with Lilah to know that if he pursued her, she would lash out in anger. And while he didn’t mind a good argument, he had no wish to upset her more.
“Mrs. LeClaire, I’m sorry.” He turned to her. “I didn’t mean to distress Lilah. I was just startled when I realized who you were.”
“That’s perfectly fine. Poor Lilah...” She sighed heavily. “I’m afraid she has little tolerance for what she doesn’t understand. Sadly, she didn’t inherit any of the family talent.”
“There were others in the family with, um, your ability?”
“Not to the extent I had.” She preened a little. “But the Holcutts have always been attuned to the world of the spirit. Of course, many of them attributed everything to accepted theological beliefs, but there were others who were more adventurous.”
Barrow House and its occupants were growing more fascinating by the moment. Why had Lilah never mentioned any of this? Well, no, he knew the answer to that. It was because it went against her view of the world. But why had she turned out so differently from the rest of her family? And, most of all, why did it give her the pain he had seen just now in her eyes?
As soon as he could extricate himself from Vesta’s conversational clutches, Con went searching for Lilah. He had heard the door out to the garden slam a moment after she ran from the room, so he turned in that direction. He could not find her in the garden, but as he emerged at the other end, he saw Lilah standing in the distance. Her arms were crossed, and she stared out broodingly over the landscape.
He followed her. Lilah heard his approach and glanced back, then turned away without speaking. Con decided that was as good as an invitation, and he joined her. Lilah stood on the edge of the promontory on which the house sat. As Lilah’s aunt had said the tor wasn’t high, but it was taller than anything else around and gave a panoramic view of the Levels. Con could see all the way to Glastonbury Tor, rising dramatically far off in the distance.
Perfectly flat, the farmland below them was laced with short, straight waterways. Willow trees grew in straight rows along the embankments, and here and there he could see a marshy spot, where ferns and reeds grew wild. The late-afternoon sun washed it all with a pale golden light, but fog was already beginning to ooze in along the canals and around the base of Glastonbury Tor.
There was an odd, eerie beauty to the place. It was a far cry from the rolling, green land of the Moreland country estate, with its grand old trees and pastures dotted with wildflowers. But the Levels held a magnificence all their own, still and timeless.
“Are you all right?” Con asked. It was a foolish question because obviously she was not, but he knew he must tread carefully here.
“Yes, of course.” Lilah glanced at him, her face reverting to its polite public mask. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly.” She turned back to her contemplation of the view, clearly done with the topic.
He decided to try a different path. “I like it here. There’s something about it that draws one.” When she made no reply, he went on, “Do you feel that way? Doesn’t it tug at you?”
“You’ve been listening too much to my aunt,” Lilah said tartly. “It’s just land, not some sentient being or ancient holy ground.” She let out a sigh. “But yes, I love it. I feel at home here. That’s only natural. I grew up here.”
“So you don’t believe that it’s the pull of Glastonbury Tor?” Con knew that would light a fire in her. That was exactly what he wanted. It seemed the only way he could pierce the polite calm she used as a shield.
He was right. Lilah’s eyes darkened. “Of course not. Aunt Vesta can make herself believe anything she wants to believe, no matter how flimsy the reasons. You can draw a line from anywhere to anywhere. It’s not magic. As for that ludicrous triangle linking Stonehenge, Glastonbury and Avebury, well, of course a continuous line to three places will form a triangle. You could do the same with any spots!”
“True.”
“And you, of course, encouraged her. Tell me about the power. What of the Fae Path?” She was building up steam now. “There is no Source. No power running beneath our feet. And the Faerie Track is nothing but a safe passage through the bogs built by the people who dwelled here long ago. It’s clever. It’s interesting. But it is not supernatural.” She flung her hands out wide.
“I suppose you have a logical explanation for what happened at the Brockminster Séance.”
“How could you know about that? It happened nine years ago. You were scarcely out of short pants.”
Con laughed. “As it happens, the length of my trousers had little to do with what I learned. However, I read about it two or three years ago when I took over the agency. In Olivia’s collected accounts of...”
“Hoaxes? Charlatans?”
“I was going to say unusual occurrences. There were a number of stories about that séance. It caught the newspapers’ attention. It�
��s not often you have a pack of peers sitting around a table summoning spirits. It’s even more unusual when those spirits come crashing into the room, shattering the windows and plunging the whole room into darkness. As I heard it, the air fairly crackled with energy, and everyone’s hair stood on end.”
Lilah made a disgusted sound. “What nonsense. It was only a storm. They held a séance in the midst of a storm, and the wind shattered one of the old windows. The room was lit by only candles—for the proper atmosphere, you see—so it’s no surprise that the gust of wind blew out all the lights. I know. I was there.”
Con’s eyebrows shot up. “You were at the Brockminster Séance? But you were only... What? Twelve?”
“I was often at Aunt Vesta’s séances.” Her mouth twisted. “Father thought my presence might make my dead mother more willing to come back.”
“I see.” And he did. This news made a lot of things clearer.
“I knew you would.”
“And that is why you tried so hard to dissuade me from coming here. You were embarrassed not only about the house, but also your aunt.”
“My whole family,” she tossed back. “Of course I was embarrassed. Barrow House looks as if it was built by a madman. And it probably was. The Holcutts always had a reputation for being peculiar. My aunt thinks she’s connected to some unearthly force. My father spent my whole life trying to communicate with his dead wife.” For an instant, tears glittered in her eyes before she blinked them away.
“Lilah...” Con’s voice was soft. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her arms, moving them up and down in a soothing manner. “There was no need to worry about my reaction. I am the least likely person in the world to be shocked by the Holcutts. My family is known all over England as the Mad Morelands after all.”
Lilah jerked out of his grasp. “Yes, but you didn’t have an aunt who created an enormous scandal by holding an infamous séance, then adopted the name Madame LeClaire, declared herself a psychic and ran off to Europe with Brockminster’s nephew.”
