by Chrys Cymri
‘I thought something must have happened,’ Miranda said, her voice tight. ‘They got him, didn’t they?’
‘He was found dying by the roadside,’ Peter said. ‘The driver didn’t even see him.’
‘They got him,’ Miranda repeated. ‘Endre said that might happen.’
Taryn flew onto the coffee table. ‘Inspector Taryn,’ she said. ‘My sorrow for your sorrow, Ms Witterton. I know what it’s like to lose a loved one. Could you tell us why you think his death wasn’t accidental?’
‘You’re from Lloegyr, you know what it’s like.’ Anger had crept into Miranda’s voice. ‘How your people hate anyone who doesn’t stick to his own kind. Like you can make rules about love! That’s why we had to be so careful, Endre said. He told me that some people wouldn’t understand. That sometimes bad things happen to couples. It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ she appealed to me. ‘This prejudice of theirs.’
I could feel Morey tense against my neck. ‘I don’t know that much about it, but we’re not here to judge you. Like I said, we’re here to help.’
‘You already thought he was dead, didn’t you?’ Peter asked. ‘You knew to go to the Tuddington estate.’
‘Endre told me that’s where they take--’
She had managed until that point. I rose to my feet as she began to weep, and sat down on the sofa next to her. I put a hand on her shoulder, and for some time the only sound in the room was that of her sobs.
‘I know, I know,’ she said, gulping for air. I passed her a tissue, and she blew her nose loudly. ‘A woman, and a dragon. How could it happen? But love is love. And I loved him.’
A woman and a dragon. Raven was suddenly in my mind, and I had to work hard to banish him. ‘How did you meet?’
‘I go to St George’s. That’s where I first saw him.’
‘How did you see him?’ Morey asked.
She glared at him. ‘I’ve always been able to see any of you. Since I was a baby. I learned to keep quiet about it after my mother sent me to a shrink. I followed a unicorn to St George’s one Sunday, and I kept going back. I wasn’t treated like a freak there. I felt like I belonged.’
‘Some humans do have the Sight permanently,’ Peter agreed. ‘The rest of us need regular contact or we lose the ability.’
‘Lucky you,’ Miranda said fervently.
‘But,’ I protested, ‘why wouldn’t you want to be able to see dragons and unicorns?’
‘It made me different.’ She swept a hand at the room. ‘I’ve never been able to hold down a real job. I failed my driving test three times because I was distracted by something the examiner couldn’t see. I hated the ability. Until I met Endre.’
‘When he was assigned to St George’s?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’ A smile tugged at her lips. ‘There he was, one Sunday, big and red and beautiful.’
‘He was a monk, sworn to celibacy,’ Morey said.
I could have kicked the gryphon. But Miranda lifted her chin. ‘He was too young when he took on those stupid rules. He hadn’t fallen in love. Don’t you vicars always go on that God is love? We loved each other. So how can God be upset about it? That’s what I told Endre.’
‘But Endre was worried,’ Peter prompted. ‘He was obviously worried that not everyone would share your point of view.’
‘His family. Those other monks. And he said there were groups who also hated “mixing.” That’s why he always came here. I never went to Lloegyr.’
‘And your last time together?’ I asked.
She started to cry again. This time I slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘He was so worried,’ she said in a low, hiccupping voice. ‘He said that people had found out about us. We were having a nice evening, sitting here together. Then he suddenly said that it was too late, that they had got to him. And he left the house. He flew away. That’s the last time I saw him.’
‘Ms Witterton.’ Peter waited until she lifted her face to meet his eyes. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone you’d like to come over?’
‘Who?’ she asked bitterly. ‘What am I going to tell them? That my boyfriend dragon is dead?’
We stayed a little longer, Peter making the traditional cup of tea and me making the traditional noises of sympathy. We gave Miranda our cards and finally left the house.
Peter paused beside me as I unlocked my car. ‘I need to talk to you later. Are you in this evening?’
‘I have a governors’ meeting at six. But I’ll be home by eight.’
‘Great. Taryn and I are going on to Lloegyr to meet with Dominic’s family.’
‘You’re going to Lloegyr,’ I found myself repeating. ‘Sure you don’t need a Vicar General with you?’
‘I could bring you back something. You know, “My friend went to Lloegyr and all I got was a lousy t-shirt.’”
‘I can’t imagine that there’s a huge market for t-shirts over there.’
‘Not even among the vampires,’ he agreed. ‘I’m meeting up with my equivalent over there. Sorry, but no need for a vicar this time.’
And yet again I found myself driving to an all too human meeting. I was beginning to wonder if there were some conspiracy to keep me from ever visiting Lloegyr.
<><><><><><>
The drive into Northampton was more interesting than the meeting, and that was only because a car decided to jump a red light and nearly hit mine. Morey said some words in Welsh which were best not translated. The couple I was visiting lived in the town, but were planning to get married at my church. Morey's ears perked when they asked for ‘Stairway to Heaven’ to be played on the organ as the bride entered. As I had already vetoed having a live penguin waddle up the aisle with the wedding rings, I agreed, subject to approval by the organist.
‘At gryphon weddings,’ Morey told me on the drive back, ‘we go for a hunt before the ceremony. It's considered bad luck to marry on an empty stomach. And both families want to see if the couple can work together in the field.’
‘The family that slays together, stays together?’
‘Something like that.’
I parked in my drive and glanced down at him. Morey was busily scratching his neck with a foreclaw. ‘Pinfeather,’ he told me. ‘Just can't seem to catch it.’
Slowly, cautiously, I stretched out a hand. He stared at me for a moment, then he lowered his head. I tried to remember what Peter had done as my fingers brushed through the warm feathers and found the one still wrapped in a hard covering. I pressed it between thumb and forefinger, and felt the shaft break apart. Morey leaned against my hand, and I heard the beginnings of a purr.
A rap against my car window made both of us jump. James grinned as I rolled down the glass. ‘Crossing over to Lloegyr tomorrow,’ he said eagerly. ‘Need to catch the train to Nenehampton. Anwen said they'd refund my expenses, but I need to pay up front.’
‘How much?’ I asked resignedly.
‘A couple of hundred? I'm staying in a hotel in Nenehampton tonight.’
‘I could ask the Dean to put you up.’
‘Pen,’ he groaned, ‘please don't do that to me again. She’s always praying. She even prays before meals.’
‘It's called “Grace”,’ Morey said, ‘and it honours God, the giver of all good things.’
‘And do you pray before you kill a bird?’ James asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Can't you use your credit card?’ I asked James.
‘It’s maxed out.’
Morey cocked his head. ‘Why am I not surprised?’
‘Get in,’ I told James. ‘Morey, let him have the front seat.’
‘Why, Black? Why are you still helping him? What has he done to deserve it?’
‘It’s called grace, Morey.’
We stopped at the cash point near a small Tesco’s and, glancing at the time, I also dropped into the local fish and chip shop. We ate our meal in the kitchen, and I left Morey with the last of the chips as I drove James to the train station.
We ar
rived just in time to see a dark blue steam engine churn past, grey-black smoke curling from the chimney, chime echoing across the car park. James cheered. ‘The Sir Nigel Gresley! The one Alan supported!’
‘Yes, she was,’ I said, startled that James had remembered. ‘The A4 class always were his favourites.’ I parked, and turned to James. ‘Do you--miss him?’
‘All the time.’ And then he was out of the car, overnight bag swinging in his hand as he strode to the platform.
The last thing I wanted to do was attend a school governors’ meeting. But I learned long ago to simply do what had to be done, no matter how little interest it might hold for me. ‘I don’t want a repeat of the village hall committee meeting,’ I warned Morey as I walked from the church to the school. ‘Just watch and listen.’
‘Chips are good,’ he said in response. ‘Can we have chips every night?’
‘Behave yourself tonight, and I’ll buy you a bag of chips tomorrow.’
Not only did Morey remain quiet, I was certain that he fell asleep half way through the meeting. I was tempted to join him. The graph of school results, split into the various year groups, was too intricate for me to follow. I could see the governor next to me hiding his iPhone under the table so that he could play a game. I wondered if I could fake a sudden emergency call. Pretend I’d been called away on an urgent pastoral case? But I reminded myself that Peter was due to call, after his visit to Lloegyr, and that cheered me up.
Finally we were setting dates for the next three meetings. ‘I’ll have to give my apologies for the one in March,’ I said. ‘I’ll be on holiday.’
‘You're always on holiday,’ said a governor as the meeting broke up. ‘How many days off do you get a year?’
I had risen from my chair and was sliding my iPad into its bag. ‘I get a hundred days off a year.’
‘That’s a lot,’ she snapped. ‘No wonder you can go away.’
I met her gaze. ‘How many days off a year do you get?’
‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘Do you get weekends off?’ She nodded. ‘So that’s a hundred and four to start with. Then say twenty eight days annual leave, and bank holidays. So you’re up to a hundred and forty days. I only get one day off a week, and so those a hundred and one days include my days off, my annual leave, and bank holidays.’
She sniffed. ‘But you don't really work, do you? You just go around talking to people.’ And she swept out of the room.
“‘Go around talking to people”,’ Morey muttered. ‘Certainly. It’s easy to talk to family about a funeral for their child, or to a someone who’s been told she only has two months to live. That's not really work is it?’
I waited until we were outside and away from the others before I replied. ‘Many people have no understanding of what a priest does outside of Sundays. The old joke is that we only work on Sundays.’
‘Sundays were the easiest day. I knew what I was doing on Sundays.’
I waited a moment, then asked, ‘Why aren't you acting as a priest anymore?’
‘I made a decision my bishop disagreed with.’
‘Big enough for you to resign from ministry?’
‘Ordained ministry. I still serve the Church.’
I tried and failed to think of a tactful way to ask. So I went for blunt. ‘What did you do?’
‘Followed my heart instead of my head.’ His voice was rough. ‘Bishop Aeron forbade me to marry the female I loved. I did so anyway.’
‘What was wrong with her?’
‘Nothing. Except for not looking when she was crossing a road in Bristol. I'm told that she would have died very quickly.’
There were so many questions I wanted to ask. But I did the only thing I could. I cricked my neck to meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So was I.’
The drive home was silent, and he flew off into the house the moment I opened the vicarage front door. ‘Morey?’ I called after him as he headed up to his room.
The phone rang. I hesitated by the stairs. Then I glanced at the time, and hurried to answer. ‘Peter?’ I asked.
‘The one and only. Sorry, couldn't find any t-shirts.’
I swiveled my desk chair around and took a seat. ‘So, how are the family?’
‘Hmm. Yes. Hard to tell.’
‘Why?’
‘How good are you at reading dragon faces?’
‘Not as good as I’d like to be.’
‘They said they hadn’t consumed Dominic, but who knows? I can’t tell when a dragon is lying to me. They’re happy for the brothers to bury what’s left.’
‘Good.’
‘And Penny?’ He chuckled. ‘The Order of Saint Thomas has asked that you meet with them.’
I flicked open my iPad to call up my diary. ‘I’m in Kettering on Monday.’
‘No, not in Kettering. They’ve asked you to meet them in their monastry. In Lloegyr.’
I was certain my grin was wide enough for him to hear down the phone. ‘When?’
‘When can you go?’
‘Friday,’ I said immediately. It was my day off, and for a change no one had tried to invade it with a meeting. ‘How do I get there?’
‘There’s a thin place near Duston. I’ll send you the address. Get there for ten tomorrow morning. Morey will take you through. A taxi will meet you on the other side.’
A taxi. Not a word I’d been hoping to hear. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’
I wandered through the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. Still no sign of Morey. For a moment I hesitated about checking on him. I felt too tired to cope with a temperamental gryphon. It doesn’t matter how you feel, I reminded myself, ministry is about serving others.
So I downed the wine while I made two cups of tea, and I slipped a hipflask into a trouser pocket before making my way up the stairs.
The door to his room was closed. I found myself wondering how he managed the doors, then decided to ask the question some other time. ‘Morey? May I come in?’
I heard a muffled word. I managed to push down the door handle without spilling more than a few drops of tea.
Morey was curled on the bed, wings outspread across the furs. He opened his eyes as I put the mug down on the bedside cabinet. ‘The drink that refreshes but does not inebriate,’ I told him.
He rose, flipped his wings onto his back, and stalked over to the cabinet. I took a seat on the bed as he slurped loudly at the tea. Then he lifted his head, a brown droplet clinging to the side of his yellow beak. ‘I wouldn’t mind a little inebriation.’
I pulled out the hipflask and added a generous dose of whisky to the remaining tea. Morey clucked his appreciation and drank deeply.
‘What was her name?’ I finally asked.
‘Seren.’ He sat down, his tail curling over his forefeet. ‘I met her at seminary.’
‘She was another ordinand?’
‘No. She was the college’s messenger.’ I poured more whisky into his mug and waited while he drew in another large swallow. ‘So beautiful. The moment I saw her red fur I was--well, that was it. The way she glowed in the sun.’
‘And not just the fur,’ I said sympathetically.
‘She had such a zest for life. And always teasing us students.’ Morey hiccupped. ‘Took awhile for her to realise I wasn’t just teasing back.’
I was tempted to take a nip at the hipflask myself, but one of us had to remain sober. ‘Was there a rule against ordinands dating staff?’
‘Not messengers. That wasn’t the problem.’
‘But your bishop didn’t approve.’
‘So beautiful when she ran,’ Morey said wistfully. ‘Muscles rippling under all that fur. She smelled of flowers and sunlight. And her laugh, she could laugh about anything.’
‘You said she died in a car accident?’
‘She was hit by a lorry while crossing a street in Bristol. She’d taken a job with Royal Mail.’
Something clicked in my head. ‘You resigned
your orders to marry her.’
‘Yes.’
‘And she worked as a special delivery person for Royal Mail.’
‘Yes.
‘Morey, she wasn’t a gryphon, was she?’
‘No.’ His sigh was long and sad. ‘She was a were-fox.’
And I tipped whisky into both of our mugs.
Chapter Ten
‘So how many of these “thin places” are there?’ I asked. I’d parked the car down a side street, and Morey was directing me along a rather nondescript road not far from Miranda’s house.
‘Oh, there are people who keep track of them. I know there are some maps. Left here.’
He was sounding surprisingly chipper considering the amount of whisky he’d consumed the night before. Not that he’d said much more about Seren except to list all of her lovely qualities. I’d finally carried him downstairs to watch the evening’s episode of The Apprentice. ‘In a shoe shop,’ Morey had roared at the television, claws marring my coffee table as he hopped up and down in his rage. The contestants were arguing over where they could find a Brannock device. ‘I know exactly what it is, and I’m not even from your ruddy world!’
A sudden hiss made me jump. I glanced at the shoulder height fence on my right, and found a ginger cat staring at me. Morey leapt off my arm for a quick swoop, driving the cat away. ‘Never a good idea to let animals stare at one of us too long. Humans start to take notice.’
‘Cats can see you?’
He dropped back onto my shoulder. ‘Most birds. All cats. Some dogs can smell us. And hedgehogs. Hedgehogs are the worst, or the best, whichever way you want to look at it.’
‘So, if we’re ever apart long enough for me to lose the Sight, I should find a hedgehog. A seeing-eye hedgehog.’
‘With the slight disadvantage that they’re nocturnal.’
‘What stops people from just falling through these places?’
‘Many of them are just too small. Now turn right.’ The houses were becoming more run down as we ventured further onto the estate. ‘And they’re never easy to go through. Discourages most people from trying.’
