Tarian shrugged. “Mortals are stronger than you think. He’ll be all right, Cassie. He just needs to be retaught everything, like a child.”
At her words Cassie became thoughtful. “I saw this program on TV a few months ago. About a man who couldn’t remember the last thirty-seven years of his life. He’d been in what they call a fugue. He had to start from scratch.”
Tarian caught Cassie’s drift at once. “So we could tell people that James is suffering from the same thing?”
Cassie nodded. “Let’s drop him off at the Good Hope.”
“Is that a hospital?”
“Yes. We’ll take him to A & E, tell them we found him wandering in Sutton Park, and it looks like he’s lost his memory.”
“Will they take care of him?”
“I think so. They’ll get the police involved, work out who he is, trace his family and friends.”
“If the changeling version of James had any,” warned Tarian. “In all probability he was so hateful he alienated everyone close to him.”
“The real James will be different,” said Cassie. “They’ll be able to put his personality change down to the fugue.”
Up ahead the trees were thinning. They had almost reached the edge of Holly Hurst.
Cassie chewed her lip. “He needs some kind of ID, though, to get the ball rolling and make sure he’s not stuck in hospital longer than necessary.”
Tarian vaulted the two-barred fence. While she waited for Cassie to squeeze between the bars, she cast a suitable spell. The changeling’s credit card from the office desk in the doll hospital appeared between her finger and thumb. When Cassie straightened up, she held it out. “Will this do?”
Cassie took the card from her. “Lost your magic,” she scoffed. “It’s perfect.”
Tarian smiled.
“Even so it’s going to be tough for him,” said Cassie as James came towards them, smiling at Cassie but giving Tarian a fearful glance. “Catching up on everything he’s missed. I wonder if he’ll ever feel at home in this world.”
“I do, and I’ve only been here a couple of years.”
“You’re different.”
Tarian nodded. “I have you to help me. James will be fortunate if he finds himself a Cassie.”
“Yeah, yeah.” But her words brought a blush of pleasure to Cassie’s cheeks.
They joined hands and set off back to the car park, James a few yards behind. When they were almost there, Tarian gestured, and Cassie’s car reappeared, drawing a gasp from the red-haired man.
“Show off,” said Cassie.
With a grin, Tarian directed the dogs towards the back seat. James would have to share it with them as far as the hospital.
“Whatever happens, he’ll be better off here than he would have been with Angor and Ysbail,” said Cassie, opening the driver’s door. “And that’s a start, isn’t it?”
Tarian nodded. “It’s a start.”
Chapter 12
“Tarian was right about the flies,” came Louise’s voice down the phone. “Whatever Pest Control did that last time did the trick.”
“It’s just as well,” said Cassie. “Murphy would have gone mental.”
She glanced across the room to where Tarian was wrestling the last of the bulging suitcases closed, the dogs hindering her progress rather than helping. It was strange seeing the flat so tidy and bare. Hard to imagine she had lived here for three years.
“Oh I don’t know,” said Louise. “He might have acquired a taste for bluebottles.”
“Are we talking about the same cat? Lazy, selfish, so picky he’d rather starve than eat cheap cat food?”
“You told me he’d eat anything.”
“Oops!”
Louise laughed. “He’s settled in really well. Sam adores him.”
“Thank heavens for that. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d had to bring Murphy back.”
“Sam’s annoyed, by the way, that he missed meeting Tarian. Especially after I told him what she looks like.”
“Men! There’ll be other occasions, Lou. Mum and Dad insist we come back and visit often, though what he and Tarian are going to find to talk about I have no idea, as Tarian has no interest whatsoever in cars.”
Tarian hauled the now shut suitcase over to the door and placed it with the others waiting to be taken down. She straightened and pressed her fists into the small of her back, invoking what Cassie recognised as a healing spell. Getting the packing cases ready for the removal men had taken its toll on both of them. And there was still the drive ahead.
“You could always come for a weekend,” she told Louise.
“To Bourn’s Edge?”
Her friend’s incredulity made Cassie roll her eyes. “Hey! It’s not Timbuktu. It’s nice. Peaceful. With beautiful views.”
“Boring, in other words.”
“I’m sure we can find something to keep you and Sam occupied.”
“Do you have cable or satellite?”
“Not yet,” admitted Cassie.
“Broadband?”
“No, but I’m looking into—”
“I rest my case,” said Louise.
Cassie laughed. “Well, if you should change your mind.” She glanced to where Tarian was leaning against the wall, arms folded. “I’d better go, Lou. We were supposed to be on our way half an hour ago. Give my love to Murphy, won’t you?”
“Okay. Safe journey, Cass. Bye.”
“Bye.” Cassie replaced the receiver then unplugged the phone from its socket.
“All done?” asked Tarian.
She nodded, her gaze skimming over the stained table on which her computer had sat, the rickety cupboard now empty of her DVD collection, the shelves bereft of her well-worn paperbacks, and the unfaded rectangles of wallpaper where her paintings had hung.
“I expect you’ll miss this place,” said Tarian, following her gaze.
Was Tarian feeling guilty about whisking her away to Bourn’s Edge? If so she had no need to.
“Not really.” Cassie went to Tarian’s side and pulled her arms around her. Tarian rested her chin on the crown of Cassie’s head. “I didn’t have much of a life before I met you. This was never home, just the place I slept.”
“Oh.”
Cassie looked up at her. “It’s my friends I’ll miss, but I intend to keep in touch.” She paused. “If that’s all right with you.”
Tarian blinked. “Of course.”
“Good.” Cassie snuggled closer. She peeked up at Tarian again and saw her gazing fondly at her. “What?”
“Nothing. Only, if we’re going to get home before it gets dark . . .”
“Don’t wanna move,” she complained, inhaling Tarian’s enticing scent. “Comfy, right here.” She basked in the feeling of well-being until a thought struck her. “Do you think James is all right at the hospital? He looked . . . Well, you saw him. He looked terrified. Maybe we should try to keep an eye on him.”
“He’s been terrified all his life,” said Tarian.
Cassie frowned. “That sounds a little cold.”
“It’s just the truth, Cassie.” Tarian cocked her head. “At some basic level James was, is, and always will be terrified of the Fae. You saw how he was around me. Fearful, wary. The best thing would be for me to stay as far away from him as possible.”
Cassie sighed. “Yet you’re the one who rescued him. It isn’t fair.”
Especially since it robbed you of your immortality. Oh, my love, I hope you don’t ever regret that. But she knew Tarian well enough by now to know that if Tarian did, it would only be in passing. The Fae lived in the moment, a trait Cassie envied.
“One act of kindness set against a lifetime of cruelty.” Tarian shrugged. “It hardly balances the scales.”
“I wonder what will become of him.”
“He’ll get a job involving animals.”
Cassie blinked. “Can you see into the future now?”
Tarian laughed. “No. But James was a
pigboy, and you saw how good he was with the horses, and with these two.” She gestured at the dogs, who had settled next to the suitcases and were watching her, tongues lolling.
“Oh.” Cassie’s glance fell on the keys waiting to be returned to the landlord. She sighed. “I suppose we should get going.”
“Mm.” Tarian yawned. “Can’t wait to get back. Who would have thought moving you out of your flat would be so eventful?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I got a great idea for a painting. That watchtower on the hill.”
Cassie hugged her.
“I wish I could share the driving,” continued Tarian, stroking Cassie’s hair, “but when we get back, we’ll have a long soak in the bath and then,” she held Cassie’s gaze, “go to bed.”
“Have you been reading my mind again?”
Tarian chuckled. “No, just your emotions and your body language.”
“Hm.” It always disconcerted Cassie when Tarian did that. On the bright side, she would never have a girlfriend who didn’t understand her.
“About the driving,” said Cassie, “don’t feel bad. I’m glad I have something to contribute. With your magic, a girl could get an inferiority complex.”
“But you won’t,” said Tarian, making it sound like an order.
Cassie smiled. “Okay.” She reached for the keys. “Ready?”
The dogs got to their feet, and Tarian nodded. “Let’s go home.”
THE MAN IN the white coat tugged the door closed behind him.
Alone once more, James relaxed back against his pillows. “Dr. Stuart, clinical psychologist.” He tasted the words.
So many new words, sights, smells, and flavours. It was overwhelming. And the most overwhelming thing of all? That apart from the Fae who had brought him to this place and given him his name, everyone looked like him, was like him.
People were imperfect, ugly. Dr. Stuart was stoop-shouldered and wore things called spectacles—to correct his poor sight, apparently. Nurse Williams was so fat she waddled. And no one worked magic. In fact, they laughed whenever he mentioned it.
He was glad they were no longer sticking sharp needles in him and asking questions that made his head ache. They believed he had lost his memory.
“You’ve been ill, James,” the nurses had told him, and Dr. Stuart had repeated it this morning. “But you’re in good hands. No one knows what trauma,” another new word, “made you lose your memory. But in time it should return.”
James didn’t disabuse them, though he wished he had lost his memory. He woke often during the night, fearful that this had all been a dream and he was back with Blacktail and the pigs. But each time, the bright light streaming through the window from the corridor reassured him.
The door opened, and Nurse Williams put her head round it. “Your parents are here to see you, James.”
“Parents?”
She came fully inside the room. “Don’t you remember them either? The police traced them. Their names are Janet and Phil Farley. They’ve come all the way from Croydon. They’ve agreed to look after you, until your memory comes back.”
James blinked at her.
“Chin up. They may be strangers, but you’ll soon get to know them again.”
There was movement in the corridor outside, and he caught a glimpse through the window of three people. One was a straight-backed, middle-aged man with hair as red as James’s own and a bushy moustache. He was talking to Dr. Stuart. The woman with him was shorter than he was, fair-haired and rather plump. She looked tired and apprehensive.
Something about the couple’s features reminded James of the reflection he had seen whenever he washed himself in the water trough. Could they truly be my parents? His heart hammered in his chest.
“May we come in?”
Phil Farley was standing in the doorway, stroking his moustache. He looked an enquiry at Nurse Williams then at James.
“Of course,” said the nurse, beckoning. “Now don’t be scared,” she told James.
“He looks different, somehow,” said Janet Farley, coming to stand next to her husband. “Smaller. Frailer. Not so vicious.” She spoke in a low voice, but James’s sharp hearing picked it up.
“Hush,” said her husband. “Don’t let him hear you. You know what he can be like.”
That puzzled James. He had never met them before. Perhaps he should say as much. He took a breath and held out his hand. “My name is James Farley. They tell me you’re my parents, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you at all. Perhaps we can start again?”
The glance they exchanged was unfathomable, but they drew closer, and the tension in their faces and shoulders eased.
“Hello, James.” Janet gave him a searching look.
He put on his best smile. “Pleased to meet you.” Her lower lip trembled and her eyes looked suspiciously wet.
Phil slipped his arm around her waist. “Hello, son,” he said gruffly. “Pleased to meet you too.”
PART 3
THE RAGGEDY BUSH
Chapter 1
Just visible from Bourn’s Edge, across the mist-filled valley, lay the village of Nether Hopton. For as long as its oldest resident could remember, the raggedy bush had stood on the common, scraps of clothing fluttering from its thorny black branches. The colour remained bright on those rags tied recently, but age and exposure to sun, wind, and rain had faded and rotted the rest.
The hawthorn had started life as a seed in a pile of bird droppings. At first its existence was precarious, and only by sheer luck had the seedling escaped the attentions of the livestock that grazed the common in those days. While a sapling, it had almost become fuel for a starving villager’s wood stove. But somehow it had survived, becoming a fully-grown, albeit lopsided tree. Then one day, someone, a passing Traveller perhaps, who had seen the rag trees and raggedy bushes across the Irish Sea, hung a rag from its lowest branch.
Perhaps his love was ill or dogged by misfortune, and he hoped that, as the scrap of her clothing rotted, so her illness would vanish. Or perhaps his reasons for tying the rag were more selfish—dreams of fame and fortune, sex and influence. No one knew whether his wish, whatever it was, was granted. But the custom he started caught on.
For far stranger beliefs than raggedy bushes were held by those living in the lush hills and valleys that separate England from Wales. On the hillside above Nether Hopton, for example, stood an ancient ring of stones. Some called them the Nine Sisters, for there were nine stones in all, and swore to strange goings-on in their midst on a Midsummer’s Eve.
BY THE TIME Cassie reached the stop at Nether Hopton, she was five minutes behind schedule. She screeched to a halt just inside the Raggedy Bush’s car park, turned off the ignition, and leaped out of the driver’s cab.
Three people were queuing next to the mobile library sign. They watched her run round to the library’s side door with differing expressions. The stooped old woman scowled, the teenage boy’s cheeks flushed as red as his hair, and the plump woman with the dangly earrings gave a friendly smile and called out, “Got lost did you, love?”
“Took a wrong turning,” admitted Cassie, unlocking the door. “Sorry.”
When she had taken this job she hadn’t realised how much geography she would be expected to memorise. The mobile library worked on a fortnightly cycle, which meant taking a different route every day for two weeks. The roads and lanes honeycombing these hills and valleys weren’t exactly straightforward and the satnav couldn’t help—some stops were known only by local names unmarked on any map, and then there were the short cuts privy only to the natives. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and already she’d overshot and had to reverse up a steep hill, taken three wrong turns, and been forced to ask for directions twice. But with familiarity things should improve. At least she hoped so.
Cassie unlocked the library’s door and took the single step up. Her customers followed her inside, clutching their returned library books. She settled herself behind the
counter and smiled. “Yes?”
The old woman plonked three Westerns in front of her. Cassie swiped the scanner over the barcodes and looked at her computer screen. The books were two weeks overdue, but her age exempted Mrs. Norville from any fine.
“Thank you,” said Cassie.
Mrs. Norville grunted and headed for the shelves at the rear of the library labelled “Large Print.” The teenager was next.
“Yes?” prompted Cassie.
He had brought back two Fantasy blockbusters. They weren’t overdue, but even so he remained standing at the counter. She looked a query at him. His blush deepened.
“Has my book come in yet, Miss?”
“Oh I’m sorry. Did you reserve one?”
“Two weeks ago.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I was told it would be in today.”
She reached for the keyboard. “I’ll check.”
According to the details on the screen there should indeed be a book for Ian Cork lurking in the plastic crate under the counter. Cassie raised the lid and found it: a fat Science Fiction blockbuster, recently published. He would have snatched it from her before she had stamped it if she had let him. With a grin, she watched him hurry towards the exit.
Another satisfied customer.
“Just the one this time, dear.” The plump woman with the dangly earrings held out her book. “It shouldn’t be overdue.” It was a battered copy of Rebecca.
Cassie scanned the barcode. “That’s fine. Thank you, Mrs. Sheldon.”
She sensed that the woman would like to stand and chat, and gave her watch a surreptitious glance. “Erm. I’m afraid there’s only a few minutes left.” Some stops on the route merited five minutes; others were allowed up to forty. It must depend on population density or something.
Mrs. Sheldon smiled. “It doesn’t take me long to find a book.” But she took the hint and drifted away to scan the packed adult fiction shelves.
Mrs. Norville returned to the counter clutching two large print Westerns. Perhaps she’d already read them, because she was still looking grumpy when she exited the mobile library.
“Don’t mind her,” said Mrs. Sheldon, following the direction of Cassie’s gaze. “Her arthritis is playing up.” She handed over a book, the latest by Joanna Trollope.
Bourn’s Edge Page 19
