by LK Rigel
“I’ve only had it a month.” Lilith eased her hand away from Marion’s grip and twisted the gold band. “It was a present—from someone I don’t like much, as it happens. I should probably take it off.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dear. I…I mean it looks lovely on you.”
“That’s what I thought.” Lilith smiled. She loved the ring. It didn’t matter where it came from.
“Here we are.” Marion walked along an old-fashioned steam engine. “There should be two more ladies on their way to the Tragic Fall. Let’s hope they’re on the train.” At the last car she climbed the steps and said, “On to Tintagos. Perhaps your destiny awaits you there!”
“But I only want a vacation.”
Marion laughed as if that was the funniest joke ever told. Lilith would never get British humor.
The westbound train was like something out of Murder on the Orient Express. Lilith sat diagonally across from Marion. Over an hour passed and neither spoke. Occasionally Marion glanced at Lilith with a friendly smile, but she spent most of the time knitting, adding to the considerable length of a moss-green scarf.
Across the aisle a girl chatted on her cell phone, unmindful or uncaring who heard. “Ah, Jimmy, don’t be a git.” Her expression and her voice softened. “You’re more than good enough for me. I love you.”
A fresh pang of hurt feelings washed over Lilith. Despite her present opinion of Greg, his reason for dumping her still chafed. He would have been degraded by her lack of pedigree. She’d never again fall for someone who was her social superior.
The cell phone girl noticed Lilith watching and listening. With a defiant stare she said into her phone, “Give me a kiss, love.”
Lilith rolled her eyes, but Marion’s sympathetic smile stopped her cold. Great gods, Lilith thought. I’m cynical! I’m jaded and broken, and I will never love anyone.
They rumbled along through hills, past lakes and meadows all caressed by gray mist, a welcome promise of cool weather. Farmhouses and fields of sheep alternated with the occasional village. One hillside had a huge chalky white horse painted or carved into it. It was all so green and magical.
You’re not in Indio anymore.
“Bollocks.” The girl flipped her phone shut and tossed it into her backpack.
The other two passengers remaining in the car looked up in one movement, like synchronized swimmers, and put away their laptops.
“Those must be the other two for the Inn,” Marion nodded at the laptop ladies. “We’ve crossed into County Dumnos. No mobile. No wi-fi—oh, goody!” A waiter rolled a cart of drinks by, and Marion stuffed her knitting into the bag at her feet. “You’re old enough for champagne, aren’t you dear?”
Lilith snorted. “I think so.”
Marion shifted to the window seat directly across from her. “Sharon,” Marion said to the girl with the cell phone, “would you like to join us?”
“All right.” Sharon left her backpack behind and moved to the seat Marion had vacated. “How’s Dad?”
“Misses you,” Marion said, “as ever. Keen to see you next Saturday.”
When Marion introduced Lilith Sharon’s face lit up. “American then? Jimmy and I long to see the Painted Desert.”
“There’s irony for you,” Lilith said. “I long to never see it again.”
“It’s a curse to live in the wrong place,” Marion said. “A cactus in the rain, or a lilac in the desert.”
“Or myself in the land of no mobile phones,” Sharon said.
“It’s true,” Lilith said. “I feel more at home here on the other side of the world than I did my whole life in the desert.” Green countryside was her proper place. When she returned to the States she was going to leave Indio and move far, far away from where the word forest conjured the image of Joshua trees.
Sharon took out her identification as the waiter poured three glasses of champagne. I’m getting old, Lilith thought. She seems so young to me.
“Pardon me, miss.” The waiter said to Lilith. “I’ll need to see some proof of age.”
“What, me?” Lilith stared up at him to see if he was joking. He wasn’t. “I’m twenty-nine,” she said.
“You’re rather well-preserved, dear,” Marion said.
Lilith showed the waiter her California driver’s license. He stared at it and looked doubtfully at her hair, then nodded his head.
“I thought you were younger than me,” Sharon said. She raised her glass. “To California. How do you know Moo?”
“Lilith is stopping at the Tragic Fall,” Marion explained.
“You seem too sensible for that circus,” Sharon said. “No offense.”
“What do you mean?” Lilith said. “I’m sure the inn is fine.”
“The Tragic Fall is lovely. But I assume you’re coming for the Handover.”
“Of course she is,” Marion said. “Elyse sent you. Isn’t that right?”
Lilith was glad of the reservation, but she couldn’t remember making it or mentioning the Elyse from her dream to anyone. The fact there was also an Elyse in Tintagos, one who had some sway with the innkeeper, was creepy. She had to think. Why was she going to Tintagos? She could blame it on Greg and say she was running away from a terrible break-up. But that wasn’t true. She wasn’t running away from Greg and Jenna.
She was running to something. Something that had existed long before she’d met Greg. As if the castle and the tree and the sea cliffs had always lived in some hidden spot of memory, waiting for her to wake up.
Marion had a frown on her face. It was hard to tell if she was lost in thought or staring at Lilith’s ring.
“Who is Elyse?” Lilith asked.
“That’s the wyrding woman,” Sharon said. “She’s called for the Handover.” She pointed her glass toward the laptop ladies. “Which those two are going to Tintagos for, no doubts there.”
“What’s a wyrding woman?” demanded Lilith. “What’s a Handover?”
“A wyrding woman is a witch.” Sharon raised her eyebrows. “The last of her kind.”
“Be nice, dear,” Marion said. “Long ago, Dumnos was a sovereign country with its own king. The wyrders of Dumnos weren’t witches. They were pagans.”
It sounded like a story Marion had recited a thousand times for her guests.
“Some say the fairies drove the wyrders away, but it was really the rise of the monasteries. All pagans went into hiding to avoid the church, and their practices died out. Today one wyrder remains in Dumnos, and she lives in a cottage outside our village.”
“The wyrding woman of Glimmer Cottage.” Sharon made her eyes big and her voice spooky.
Marion said, “A wyrding woman has lived at Glimmer Cottage as long as anyone knows.”
Like Starkadders at Cold Comfort Farm, Lilith smiled to herself.
“When she gets old and begins to lose her powers,” Marion continued, “she calls for a Handover.”
“To hand it over,” Sharon said.
“She chooses a young woman with talent—”
“Talent?”
“Potential witch.” Sharon wasn’t going to let up.
“Whoever she chooses will inherit Glimmer Cottage and learn wyrding ways.”
“But wait, there’s more!” Sharon refilled their glasses. “Whoever’s chosen gets the cottage and a trust fund and supposedly wicked magical powers. Sounds good, right?”
It sounded great. “What’s the catch?” Lilith knew there had to be one.
“Well, there’s a curse involved, isn’t there?” Sharon looked at Marion in triumph.
“I knew it was too good to be true.” Lilith laughed and clinked champagne glasses with Sharon.
“Yes, there is a curse,” Marion said. “And the new wyrding woman’s only task will be to find a way to break it.”
“What’s the curs
e?”
“No one knows.”
“You did not just say that.”
“Makes it difficult to break,” Sharon said.
Marion didn’t laugh. “It must have to do with the interference in the county atmosphere. We can’t get wireless internet or a mobile signal. Aircraft with high-tech circuitry fly over at their peril.”
That explained the steam locomotive.
“Atmospheric conditions are screwed,” Sharon said, “but by metallurgy, not magic. Everywhere in Dumnos the iron ore gives off an intense kind of static. That’s what disrupts the wireless. It makes great steel, though. You’ve heard of Dumnos Clad?”
“Best cookware in the world,” Lilith said, “though too expensive for mere mortals. Well, too expensive for me. But I do possess an old stock pot I inherited from my mother. She called it her cauldron.” She sighed at the strange looks from Marion and Sharon. This was her mother’s legacy, a homemade necklace and a fantastic pot. “Is the Dumnos Clad factory near the inn?”
“No longer,” Sharon said. “They moved to Christminster. They needed to be online to manage the supply chain and order fulfillment. Even payroll is done on the internet now.”
“Sharon works at the factory,” Marion said. “Dumnos lost a lot of people when the Clad left.”
One of the laptop ladies asked loudly for another bottle of champagne. They were in a holiday mood. That was it, Lilith realized. There was no mystery here, no curse. The Handover was a gimmick to draw tourists. Like picking a child out of the crowd at Disneyland to pull the sword from the stone. The “wyrding woman” would choose a local actor for the honor—or the mayor’s daughter—with none the wiser. Very clever.
“Elyse has had Moo bamboozled forever,” Sharon said. “She takes advantage. Gets her to run errands and play along with her schemes.”
“I know what I know,” Marion said. “And this Handover has been good for the village. Cade was right about that.”
“Cade is always right about everything,” Sharon said as she looked out the window. “Oh, goody. We’re out of Dumnos.” She moved across the aisle again and pulled her cell phone out of her backpack. She talked with Jimmy until the train stopped.
“This is me.” She threw her backpack over her shoulder and winked at Lilith. “Don’t let Elyse choose you. You wouldn’t fancy a snogless life battling ghosts in a damp old cottage at the edge of nowhere.” She kissed Marion’s cheek. “Tell Dad hi for me, Moo. We’ll see you Saturday.”
She fairly skipped up the aisle to the exit and reappeared outside on the platform, her face alight with joy. She leapt into the arms of a young man, wrapping her legs around his waist. The two locked in a passionate kiss as the train pulled away.
“My husband’s daughter,” Marion said. “Tintagos Village isn’t smart enough for her. She loves her broadband and her mobile.”
And loves Jimmy too, Lilith thought. She’d seen the movie Wimbledon. She knew what snogging was. Sharon was right; Lilith didn’t fancy a snogless life in a damp cottage. She didn’t fancy the snogless life she already had in the dry desert.
Marion picked up her knitting, and Lilith leaned back to watch the world go by. Soon they were back in Dumnos County—at least, that’s what she assumed when the laptop ladies uttered frustrated sighs and put away their computers. Again farms and flocks of sheep alternated with postcard villages. The repeating view and the train’s rocking movement soon lulled her to sleep—and to Tintagos Castle.
Again she descended the stone staircase as a song wafted in from a lower hall. There was no Elyse, but again she tripped and fell into the arms of the prince. He looked into her soul. She felt she’d known him beyond mere lifetimes, through eternity.
“Diantha,” he said.
Diantha. The name was familiar, easy. It must be her real name.
The prince lowered his gaze to her lips, and her body responded with swelling urgency.
“Galen.” That was his name. He was Galen, and he was her love. Her life. She had waited for him for so long, she couldn’t stand it. He kissed her, and she gasped with desire. He slipped her nightgown off her shoulders and she ran her fingers through his hair. Diantha. Yes, that was right. Galen.
The scream of a steam whistle and the metal-on-metal squeal of train brakes jolted Lilith out of the scene, back to the real world. Marion was rummaging through her bag. “We’ve arrived, dear. I have something for you.”
Lilith yawned and closed her eyes. She was on fire. Her hot arousal from the dream had to be obvious.
Marion handed her a soft pink knitted hat and matching gloves. “A gift from the Tragic Fall. You’ll freeze without them.”
3
Tintagos Halt
By the time the train groaned to a stop, the laptop ladies were at the door with their luggage. While Lilith retrieved her trunk from the storage bin, Marion jammed her knitting needles into a ball of yarn and stuffed them into her bag. She brightened when she spotted a man waiting on the platform.
“Ian!” The bag bang, bang, banged against the seats as she moved up the aisle past Lilith with a sing-song “Halloo!” Ian couldn’t possibly hear. She bounded down to the platform like Sharon going after Jimmy. Although she didn’t leap onto him and wrap her legs around his waist, their kiss was equally enthusiastic.
Lilith stopped at the top step of the train car as Ian locked Marion in a bear hug and rocked her back and forth. “My precious girl. It’s good to have you home.”
“Silly man. I was gone but a day.” She kissed him. “Sharon was on the train.”
“And how is my darling daughter?”
Everyone in the world was in love.
Everyone else.
Ian caught Lilith’s eye and saluted her, fist to forehead, as if tugging an imaginary cap. He stopped a man dressed as a footman in full livery and pointed to Lilith. The man appropriated her trunk and wheeled the thing away after Marion and Ian.
A blast of wind raised chill bumps on Lilith’s bare arms, and she was glad for the hat and gloves. The moist breeze carried a hint of the ocean and felt soothing on her face.
“Lily, you’ve come at last,” said a voice. A woman.
Lilith gripped the handrail and looked up and down the platform, though it was futile. The voice was in her head, from her dreams. Elyse on the stone landing in the castle. The train platform was empty but for the swirling natural mist that mixed with the train’s hot steam.
“Give me your hand.”
A different voice. Deep, self-confident, male—real. It sent an eager flutter over Lilith’s solar plexus. A man emerged from the mist and steam, his gloved hand outstretched toward her. He was tall and red and big-boned. His ruddy complexion looked like it had rebelled once but had given up the fight. He had shaggy chestnut hair and green eyes that hinted of dangerous pleasure.
“Lilith Evergreen, I presume?” A West Country accent tinged with humor.
Say it again. Say my name again.
His rough face was not at all handsome. His voice was jagged like a demon lover’s—low and crushed velvety, promising things no good woman should wish for. Lilith found herself thinking of sex—and not in the privacy of a dream, but here, now, in broad daylight.
The man’s duster reached mid-calf, and his long scarf was the color of dark moss. He tipped his moss-green hat, a Mad Hatter’s bell crown topper, and bowed with a flourish. “Bausiney. Cade Bausiney.” He sounded like James Bond. “Tour guide extraordinaire. Ian has commandeered my rig to haul the lot of you down to the Tragic Fall.”
Dynamic, substantial, assured. He was no apparition.
“Generous of you to comply.”
“I thought so.” His dark-gloved hand dwarfed Lilith’s in the pink one. Beside him, she felt downright delicate.
A hot current of desire danced over her as he handed her down to the platform. She glanced at him sideways, sure he’d felt it too. She pulled her hand away—or
maybe he dropped it. The urge to grab this man, this stranger, was almost overwhelming. It was as if she’d become a different person. She wanted to kiss him right here, right now, tear his clothes off and pull him inside.
She studied her surroundings, desperate to think of anything else.
Tintagos Halt consisted of an old stone building anchored to a wide wood platform. A rusting iron bench at one end looked unused for a generation. Garish posters covered ancient walls. You Might Be Next! Visit Famous Tintagos Castle! Who Will Be Chosen? A Once in a Lifetime Event!
Bausiney’s hand brushed over her bare upper arm. He quoted, “Dumnos is a land of mist and rain,” and wrinkled his nose. “We put so much effort into the literature, and no one reads it.” He had one of those ironic grins where the corners of his mouth curved down but his eyes twinkled. He draped his scarf around her shoulders, and she caught her breath at his slight squeeze. “That’s better now.”
The steam whistle blasted, as startling as a physical assault. She and Bausiney jammed their hands over their ears until it stopped. Fortunately, the shock of the blast drove away Lilith’s sex-fiendishness.
“It’s this way,” Bausiney said.
At the end of the platform the footman loaded luggage into a waiting horse-drawn carriage. His ornate uniform made more sense now, all part of the show. The vehicle was as white as Cinderella’s coach with polished brass fixtures and a gold coronet with pearls and strawberry leaves painted on the door. The top was down with Marion and Ian and the laptop ladies inside, all with wool throws spread over their laps.
“This is Bella and Cammy.” Marion handed warm throws to Lilith and Bausiney. “Sisters from Maidstone. They’re stopping at the Tragic Fall for the Handover.”
“Now there is truly no room at the inn,” Ian observed.
Lilith sat on the same side as Bella, the older of the two. If they’d been named in honor of Mr. Trollope’s French sisters—a mean trick by a parent—they’d rebelled against the author’s description. The younger Cammy appeared shy and sweet. Bella regarded Lilith with a distinctly sour expression and furrowed eyebrows—which morphed to everything delightful when Bausiney inserted himself in between the two.
