by Kennedy Kerr
It was a shape, a symbol, four crossed lines inside a circle, hand-drawn in ink. The ink had bled slightly into the fine grain of the wood. Temerity stared at it, the nausea threatening her stomach until she put the dolls back inside each other and replaced them on the windowsill. Before she forgot it, she drew the symbol on her notepad, staring at it in the dwindling afternoon light in Molly’s room. It meant something and Temerity was sure it was what was giving her such a bad feeling.
She looked into Beth’s room before she went back downstairs, but didn’t go in. Beth’s room, by contrast to Molly’s, was full of personality: a shelf of framed photos of Beth with friends, pulling funny faces, laughing and hugging. A dressing table groaned with cosmetics arranged messily in various boxes and make-up bags. A row of glass perfume bottles lined the edge of the table.
Clothes hung over a chair, piles of shoes lay strewn in a corner – high heels, sandals, flats, boots. Some of the clothes were still on the shop hangers with the tags on; Beth clearly liked shopping. There was a sound system, framed pictures. Temerity glimpsed a pack of tarot cards bedside Beth’s rather more girly white cast-iron bed frame, covered with a turquoise spread patterned with butterflies.
So many people have tarot cards these days, she thought as she walked down the stairs. Muriel in the café probably has some – anything to busybody into people’s lives. The fact that the mirror found on Molly’s body may have been used in witchcraft might be a link to the cards, but it wasn’t enough of a connection. Still, it was interesting.
Temerity and Tilda’s parents had been occultists and had collected all manner of mystical objects when they had been the original proprietors of Love’s Curiosities, Inc. Neither parent had exactly explained what they were doing – the girls would have been too young to understand – but they had talked freely about psychic phenomena, tarot and mysticism.
Their mother had taught Tilda what she knew about herbalism and both parents, when they had realised Temerity’s talent for psychometry – knowing by touch – had encouraged it. Their father had always been a mystery – he was distant, affectionate, but always up in the library room, researching or treading around, chanting, doing odd things. Occasionally, an acrid smell would seep down the stairs, followed by billowing smoke if he opened the thick oak door to answer Tilda or Temerity’s questions.
After their parents had died, they’d left a record of years spent conjuring spirits, seership, divination and automatic writing in stacks of journals, written and annotated faithfully, intended for the girls. Along with the shop, it was a legacy, including various rare sets of tarot cards, many of them dog-eared from use. Maybe it was because Temerity was familiar with tarot that it didn’t strike her as especially odd that Beth had a set – or, maybe, she was right to think that tarot packs were ten a penny nowadays.
Temerity found Beth and Angus where she’d left them.
‘So, he was her boyfriend?’ the Constable was asking Beth; he looked up from his notepad as Temerity stood in the doorway.
‘No way. Wanted to be. He was mad keen on Molly, but she wasn’t interested.’ Beth shook her head.
‘Might they have been seeing each other in secret, maybe?’ Harley scribbled in his pad.
‘Why would they? Neither of them was seeing anyone else, as far as I know. I can pretty much assure you that Molly wouldn’t go within ten feet of that stalker.’
‘Stalker?’ Harley exchanged a glance with Temerity. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Ugh. I told her to report it, but she didn’t. He’d turn up uninvited all the time. I mean, she’d see him at work every day, but that wasn’t enough for Ben. He sent her flowers, notes, emailed her, texted all hours of the day and night. She’d told someone at school, I think.’
‘The Headmistress?’ Harley asked.
Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘It must have been an uncomfortable working environment for her with that going on,’ Temerity said. ‘She’d been at the school six months, you said?’
‘That’s right, it was August. She’d got a job at the school. I was looking for someone to split the rent.’ Beth shrugged.
‘So this stalking –’ Temerity remembered the young teacher in the staff room, wailing over Molly’s dead body – ‘when did it start?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I think they started out being quite friendly. Molly was very flirtatious, so she probably was like that with him at first. But then I know she definitely told him to back off when it all started getting too intense and he didn’t.’ She sighed. ‘She could handle herself. I mean, she was kind of a bitch sometimes, but she didn’t deserve it. What happened.’
Harley wrote in his notebook, then flipped it shut.
‘Okay, Miss Bennett. I think that’s all we need for now. We’ll be in touch, but in the meantime, it would be useful if you could avoid disturbing Molly’s room. I’m just going to inspect it now, if I may? I won’t be a minute.’
Beth shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’
Temerity sat down opposite Beth, who gave her a disinterested stare.
‘I’m still not sure why you’re here. Find anything good up there, did you?’ she asked.
‘Maybe.’ Temerity wasn’t going to mention what she had found or how odd the doll had made her feel, but she was curious about Molly still. ‘Was Molly Russian? I mean, were her family from Russia originally?’
‘Not as far as I know. I think she said she was adopted, though.’ Beth picked up a biscuit and dunked it in her tea. ‘Oh, the Russian doll. You think she’s Russian because of that?’ she laughed derisively. ‘Not such a great psychic after all.’
Temerity was thoughtful. Even if Molly’s adoptive parents had been impeccably loving and kind, maybe she had struggled with the knowledge that she had been given away. Wouldn’t such a thing have made her difficult at times, sharp-tongued, even a bit unlikeable?
Temerity’s eyes followed Beth drinking her tea, but there was something suddenly on Beth’s shoulder. A shadow, something Temerity couldn’t quite make out. What was it? A trick of the light? Temerity didn’t think so.
She changed the subject.
‘I saw some tarot cards by your bed. You’ll have to give me a reading,’ she said, casually.
‘I said you could look in Molly’s room, not mine,’ Beth snapped.
‘I didn’t go in. I just saw when I was walking past,’ Temerity said, breezily. ‘Have you been reading them long?’
‘No. I got them for my birthday. To be honest, they’re so complicated, I’ve hardly used them. Not really my thing.’
The shadow on Beth’s shoulder shifted; Temerity frowned at it. It was almost… she shook her head. It came into focus for one brief moment before Beth stood up and it disappeared: a black feather, sitting on her shoulder.
‘Oh.’ Temerity nodded. ‘Never mind.’ She heard Angus coming down the stairs and got up. ‘Well, thanks for letting us talk to you,’ she said, politely. Only a few nights ago she and Tilda had connected to the great goddess of justice, Ma’at. What had she said? That feathers would show Temerity who was guilty – whose judgement was near.
There had definitely been a feather on Beth’s shoulder. A spirit feather; something born in the astral realm.
Temerity was taken aback. Did this mean Beth was their murderer?
‘No bother.’ Beth dismissed her, but was all smiles as she followed Temerity out into the hall. ‘Constable Harley, are you sure you don’t need to ask me anything else?’ she beamed, but Harley shook his head.
‘Nothing else for now.’ He handed her his card. ‘If you think of anything else, get in touch. I may come back to follow up this issue about the stalker teacher.’
‘Any time.’ Beth gave him a bright grin. ‘Come and take down my particulars any time you want, Constable.’
They walked up the path and onto the street; it was only after Beth Bennett had closed her front door that Temerity glanced at Harley and noticed he was blushing. Usually
she would have to stifle an impulse to laugh, but the feather had got her thinking.
‘What?’ He caught her eye and she shook her head.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Temerity replied. She certainly wasn’t going to tell this logical oaf about her vision. He’d think she was mad.
‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at,’ Harley muttered.
‘I’m not laughing,’ Temerity protested, wrapping her scarf up around her neck. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘Fine. Think away. But I did absolutely nothing to encourage that, you know…’ Constable Harley pointed back at Beth Bennett’s house. ‘All the… flirting.’
‘I think you’ll live,’ Temerity replied, lost in her thoughts. She hardly noticed when he strode angrily ahead of her. Who else was she going to see a feather on – and why?
8
They were walking past Love’s Curiosities, Inc. when Temerity’s mobile phone rang. Shielding her ear from a vicious wind that had appeared out of nowhere, she tried to hear who was speaking, but it was hard to make it out. Temerity signalled to Angus that she had to take the call; she beckoned him to come into the shop to get out of the cold.
‘I was going to call you… yes, no, it’s a great honour…’ Temerity was struggling to hear the person on the other end of the line; it was the Alaskan university, following up on their invitation to speak at the conference. She motioned for Harley to go through to the kitchen, where there was a sofa along one wall and eight comfortable, cushioned chairs that sat alongside a scrubbed wood dining table. He followed, obediently.
‘No, it’s just that…’ She listened to the enthusiastic conference manager at the other end of the phone, watching Harley move through the house. She felt momentarily bad for not listening to him earlier; he’d looked so discomfited at Beth Bennett’s uncomfortable flirting. He sat down at the dining table, upright and started looking through his notepad.
‘Yes, I know… yes, it’s a very interesting panel… oh, that’s very kind of you to say, but—’
She listened further, sighing.
‘No, I’m sorry, but I have to decline your kind offer,’ Temerity said with more confidence in her voice than she felt.
Leaving Lost Maidens Loch was too much of a wrench for Temerity. She made up excuses to stay in the shop – she was too in-demand, the shop wouldn’t cope without her, or the places she was invited to were too remote, too far away. But the simple truth was that she didn’t want to leave Patrick. His bones were in Lost Maidens Loch. She had left him once before and she hadn’t been able to save him. She wouldn’t leave him again.
Anyway, she was involved in the murder now. Murders were important.
Temerity ended the call and walked into the kitchen, deliberately banishing Patrick from her mind.
‘Cup of tea? Coffee? Freezing out there.’ Temerity flicked on the kettle and opened the cupboard for mugs. She expected him to refuse, but he looked up.
‘Tea would be welcome. I didn’t have any earlier.’
That’s possibly the most polite thing he’s ever said to me in the brief time we’ve known each other. Temerity tried not to show her surprise and spooned loose tea from a canister into one of the old teapots.
‘No, well, that was probably wise. I wouldn’t have put it past Beth to drug your tea and keep you there as a sex slave,’ she joked.
‘I don’t think that’s very funny. Modern slavery is nothing to joke about,’ he replied, seriously.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. He really has no sense of humour. I guess the wolves didn’t make time for amusing conversation, she thought. There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘Important call?’ Harley cleared his throat, changing the subject.
‘Oh… not really,’ she said evasively, pouring hot water on top of the tea leaves which gave off a pleasantly bitter aroma.
‘Really? It sounded like it was.’
Temerity sighed.
‘Oh, it’s just this university. They want me to come and speak at their conference, but I can’t go.’
‘Why not?’ Harley accepted a mug of steaming tea and poured in a little milk from a small silver jug she placed on the table. It almost tipped over, as Temerity had accidentally rested it half on top of the edge of a magazine, but Harley rescued it in time.
‘It’s a long way away.’ She stood next to the dinner table, resting her hip on it as she blew on her tea to cool it down.
‘What do they want you to do?’ he asked; she explained about the keynote speech. Harley looked at her with a curious expression. ‘So you really… you’re psychic? It’s real?’
‘Psychic provenance. I have the gift of psychometry: knowing something from touching it. It’s useful in the antiques and collectables world.’
‘How?’ His expression was polite, but she knew he still didn’t believe her, despite witnessing her tell Beth Bennett where her amber egg came from.
‘How is it useful, or how do I do it?’ She sipped her own tea. At least we’re having an actual conversation now. Drinking from crockery instead of a free-running stream beneath a full moon has obviously civilised him temporarily, she thought, smiling to herself.
‘Both.’
‘It’s useful because dealers, auctioneers, owners, potential buyers – they don’t always know the whole life story of an object. That’s called provenance. If you can provide full provenance for an object, it has a higher value.’
‘But… what’s the value in you saying something belonged to someone or came from somewhere in particular if it’s just your –’ he waved his fingers in the air – ‘your vision, or whatever? You can’t prove it.’
‘No, but I can often tell investigators where to look for ownership documents, receipts, that kind of thing. I can tell which country to look in, what family has something important in their vault that will complete the story. If the object’s lost, I can tell them where it is.’
Harley held her gaze steadily; she didn’t drop it.
‘So if I gave you something of mine, you’d be able to tell me things about myself you couldn’t know.’
‘That’s right. Well, I can tell you what comes to me. Whether I conceivably could know it or not is irrelevant. I could go through your bins for a year and possibly find out the same thing, but it doesn’t really appeal.’
‘Convenient.’
‘Not really, no.’ Temerity was beginning to get irritated. ‘For instance – Molly Bayliss owned a matryoshka doll.’ Harley looked blankly at her. ‘A set of Russian dolls? You know, one inside another one?’ she clarified.
‘Was that what you touched when you went up to her room?’
‘Yes. And when I touched it, I felt physically ill. Anxious. I wanted nothing other than to get out of there. I saw someone – a woman, a relative, I think – giving it to Molly. I saw her, when she was younger – Molly had a temper and she didn’t like people touching that doll. And I found this symbol drawn inside it.’
Temerity went over to where she had slung her handbag over an antique dinner chair as she’d come in and retrieved her notebook, bringing it back open to the page with her drawing of the four crossed lines inside a circle.
‘Are you sure you didn’t just feel ill because you… might be ill?’ Harley asked, then took the notebook and frowned. ‘This could be anything.’
‘Yes, it could. And no, I feel fine now. It could be a clue, though.’
‘What is it?’ He looked at Temerity’s drawing distrustfully.
‘I have no idea. The only thing it reminds me of it is a magical glyph, or sigil. Something used in different occult traditions.’
‘Occult? Meaning…? Molly Bayliss was a witch?’
‘No. Meaning that’s what it might be, that’s all.’ She sat down at the kitchen table.
‘What does a glyph… or sigil… do?’ He handed it back to her.
‘It’s a kind of compressed symbol containing the power of a magical working,’ she said. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, Wolfman.
Transylvania’s full of this kind of weird cultural history. Temerity realised that she was actually starting to make herself believe that Angus Harley had been raised by Transylvanian wolves, which was funny, but she thought she should probably concentrate on reality for the moment.
‘A spell?’
‘I suppose you could see it like that, yes.’
Harley rolled his eyes.
‘It might be a manufacturing brand,’ he said. ‘Occam’s razor: whatever the most likely reason is, it’s probably that.’
‘Well, I’d agree, apart from the fact that I know that manufacturer – I did a valuation job for someone a while back. They sent me a whole box of dolls and the brand that Molly had, I can tell you, only have a maker’s mark on the base of the biggest outer doll. And they’re as common as the cold. This mark was hand-drawn inside the last doll. Not printed.’
‘So you really think this is… witchcraft?’ Harley looked doubtfully at the doll.
‘Maybe. It’s a possible link to the mirror found with the body.’
‘But isn’t witchcraft… all a bit… made-up?’ Harley sipped his tea.
Temerity was about to disagree vociferously when there was a flurry of feathers and Hebrides flew into the kitchen, screeching, with his claws out, straight at Angus Harley.
The Constable stood up in a panic and dropped his mug; it shattered on the stone flagged floor. At least it wasn’t me this time, Temerity thought briefly.
Hebrides landed on Harley’s shoulder and dug his claws in hard, screeching loudly. His considerably large bright blue wings – when both wings were outstretched, as they were now, they were about four feet wide – smacked Harley’s face a number of times. Parrots loved their owners but disliked strangers; Temerity also wondered whether Hebrides was taking umbrage at Harley’s dismissal of witchcraft. She kind of hoped he was.
‘Hebrides! No!’ Temerity scolded him. The parrot’s beak was very sharp and could easily draw blood. ‘Naughty! Hebrides, gentle!’
