Today, the tide was almost out. Faye had to open the shop soon, not that anyone would ever hold her to opening exactly on the stroke of ten. She’d brought a thermal cup of coffee with her and a roll fresh from the village bakery.
She walked across the sand as usual, listening to the seagulls call to each other, feeling the spring sun on her face. The sea was calm today, and when the sun came out from behind the clouds, it glittered on the water as if it were glass.
A flash of light made her look up, surprised. One of the windows on the house facing the beach was open at just the right angle that it was reflecting sunlight into her eyes exactly at that moment. The house was all steel and glass, that ultra-modern look that had been popular when it was built. Most of the villagers hated it; it didn’t fit in with the rest of the village, which was full of the old-style Scottish stone houses. But Faye had always thought it belonged there, somehow. The glass reflected the sea and the sky in all its changing moods and colours, and on full moon nights when Faye had been at the beach, the house, dark and uninhabited, had caught the moon like a glass temple.
She stared for a moment, shielding her eyes from the bright glare. She saw that a few of the windows were open, in fact, and when she looked harder, she could see the blinds that were usually closed had been opened, meaning she could see into the house.
She walked up the beach towards the rocks and closer to the house. Inside, people were moving furniture; she watched as two men carried some kind of desk up a set of stairs. Someone was moving in for the first time in years; Faye was perhaps six or seven when there had been someone there last. It was when Grandmother had still been fit enough to accompany her to the beach on a scavenging trip, anyway – that was when Grandmother had told her that the house had been cursed by the faeries.
I wonder how long this one will last, she smiled to herself, pulling the tartan wool shawl around her shoulders to keep out the cold. And if there really is a curse on it. Moddie hadn’t given her a direct answer when Faye had asked her about it after being on the beach with Grandmother, when her mother was plaiting her hair for school. But IS there a faerie curse, Mummy? She had watched as Moddie’s deft hands braided the three hanks of the deep auburn hair that fell in natural – but often wild and knotted – ringlets around Faye’s shoulders. But when she gazed up to her mother’s face from the edge of her bed, mirrored in the glass of the dressing table opposite, Moddie had a strange expression. Just Grandmother’s tales. Go on and get dressed for school now, little one, was all she had said, but she had hugged Faye fiercely before she let her go.
‘Great view out here!’ a voice called from behind her, and she looked around in surprise.
A man with longish black hair was walking up the beach towards her; tall, slim, brown-skinned and unshaven with probably a week or more of beard. He was wearing a black knitted hat and a blue duffel coat over black jeans; his trainers were wet already.
‘It certainly is!’ she called back, watching him approach. He was holding a sheaf of papers, but as he got a few feet from Faye, the wind came up unexpectedly hard and blew them out of his hand.
‘Oh, shit!’ he shouted, and started running after the paper, which had turned the quiet beach into a sudden storm. There was no way he was going to get them all; instinctively, Faye collected up the ones nearest to her, watching him as he ran around, trying to catch the others. It was as though there were sprites in the wind, pulling the paper away from him right at the last minute, curling and parading them around him like cruel puppet masters. She started laughing; first, politely, into her hand, and then louder, as he jumped into the wavelets at the edge of the tide, splashing himself in the process. He made such a comical figure, and it was such a sudden change of events from her expected quiet beach meditation, that the mirth overtook her and she felt herself laughing hysterically like she hadn’t done in years.
The man came up the beach to where Faye was holding on to the rock and wiping at her eyes.
‘Having a good laugh at my expense, I see.’ He was rueful, but a smile played on his lips. ‘You’re going to have to help me clean this up, you know. Bystander responsibility or something.’
‘Sorry.’ She took in a deep breath.
He handed her a wet flyer. ‘Here. You might as well have the last salvageable one.’
ABERCOLME ROCKS, Faye read at the top of the pink paper. Underneath, there was a list of what she assumed were band names, then MIDSUMMER EVE written at the bottom. Midsummer, Midsummer, Midsummer delight; go to the faeries on Midsummer night – the old rhyme played in her mind.
‘What’s this?’ She looked back up at him. Close up, his eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black; his eyelashes were long and soft.
‘Abercolme’s first music festival. That I know of, anyway. Hi. I’m Rav Malik.’ He held out his hand; Faye shook it, politely. ‘I’m promoting a festival up here. I was supposed to be plastering these all over town.’
‘You managed the beach.’ She looked around them; the wind had died again.
‘Yeah. Not quite the plan, but maybe a few snails will buy tickets.’
‘Snails don’t live on beaches. The salt would kill them,’ Faye laughed. ‘You’re not from around here?’
‘You got me.’ He looked shyly at his shoes and then back at her.
‘Sorry for laughing just now. But you did make a bit of a meal of it.’ She couldn’t help teasing him, just a little; there was something about him that made her feel it was all right.
‘Aye, well.’ He shrugged.
Faye pushed her hair out of her eyes where it was tangled from the sudden wind. ‘Who’s moving into the glass house? Do you know?’ She didn’t know how much the house was worth exactly, but it was always bought by wealthy, older people before they moved on. This guy didn’t look more than thirty, and wasn’t exactly dressed like a millionaire.
‘Me.’ He smiled at her. He had a nice smile. ‘Just moved my company up from London to Edinburgh. Amazed it’s been empty so long.’ He looked mournfully at the paper-strewn beach. ‘That wind came out of nowhere.’ He shook his head, looking around at the beach. ‘I guess the weather here’s temperamental. I haven’t lived by the sea before.’
‘You get used to it.’ Faye smiled.
‘And you are?’
‘Faye Morgan.’
He nodded, smiling.
‘I’m going to have to pick this lot up, aren’t I, Faye Morgan? Or the village elders will curse me.’
She laughed. ‘The village elders would tell you it’s not them you have to worry about.’
‘Oh. Who do I have to appease with burnt offerings?’
She started picking up the stray flyers, mostly wet with seawater. ‘Me, probably,’ she said, over her shoulder.
He stood up and stared at her. ‘You? Why?’
‘I’m the local witch, you could say. My family’s been here for generations.’
‘Witch? What, eye of newt and toe of frog?’ he gazed at her now, the sea making a shushing sound behind them. Overhead, the seagulls circled and squawked.
‘No. Herbs, plants, the moon, magic… that kind of thing.’
‘Right.’ He smiled, crinkling his eyes against the hard spring sun. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a real witch before.’
‘You probably have. You just didn’t know it.’ Faye ran for three flyers that the wind was buffeting along the tideline. Rav followed, picking up more. Faye caught them, and stopped to face the wind coming in off the sea. It was cold but beautiful.
‘So you’re local? D’you know anything more about the history of the house? The agent was pretty clueless.’ Rav appeared next to her and stuffed another handful of mulched flyers in his pockets, rubbing his hands together. ‘Crikey. Colder than it looks, eh?’
‘I run a shop in the village – Mistress of Magic. Yeah, that house has a history. My grandmother used to tell me stories about it.’ She didn’t break her gaze away from the water. Part of her felt resentful that he
was here; she was used to this being her space, most of the time. Even in the summer when there were tourists, most of them went to the Silver Sands Beach which was connected to this one – Black Sands – by a small coastal link. Black Sands wasn’t as conventionally pretty, but it was much better for magic.
‘I’d love to hear them sometime.’ Rav’s eyes met hers, and held her gaze. He’s probably nice to everyone, Faye thought, reflexively. He’s not flirting with me.
‘Well, pop into the shop. I’m open every day except Sunday,’ she said, looking away hastily. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to go and open up. Good luck with your festival.’ She bent and picked up a dry flyer from a few feet away. ‘I’ll put one up in the window if you like?’
‘I do like. Thanks.’ He caught her eye again and his eyes twinkled. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you again soon, Faye Morgan. Or should I call you Morgan Le Fay?’
‘Just Faye will do,’ she said, picking up her forgotten coffee which had no doubt gone cold now. She made her way back to the footpath, feeling him watch her go. Once she was far enough away, she waved, and he waved back.
I can’t believe I waved, she thought. Still, he won’t be here long. They never are, in that house.
She was surprised to feel sad at the idea. Ah well. He knows where to find me, she thought.
Chapter Five
It was raining; the driech weather typical for late March. She’d still walked the beach in the rain, though, before opening up; she didn’t mind a drenching, and she was curious to see Rav again. But there had been no sign of him today, or any of the days in the past week her walk had taken her to Black Sands. Usually, she walked the beach, or sat on her rock, a couple of times a week; she admitted to herself that perhaps she had gone there a little more regularly than usual on the off-chance she might see him again.
When she came back from her walk, she saw that Aisha had taken down Grandmother’s old hagstone charm – nine pebbles with natural holes in them, strung together with string – and left them on the shop counter. Puzzled, she picked it up and inspected it; it was dusty; she supposed that Aisha might have intended to clean it at the end of the day before, and forgotten. Aisha closed the shop on Wednesday afternoons; it was Faye’s afternoon off in the week, as the shop was open on Saturdays.
When she had dried her hair, hung up her coat and made a cup of coffee, she sat down at the counter and held the charm carefully. Grandmother had knotted the twine between the stones, and dust had made its careful way into the creases; Faye carefully loosened the knots and cleaned the dust away. She dusted the stones themselves, and smiled as she thought of Grandmother, whose clever fingers had made this once.
The bells tinkled as the glass door pushed open, but Faye kept polishing. Incense smoke filled the air; her coffee was half-drunk and mostly cold in a faerie mug next to her. The face in the rough clay, handmade by a local supplier, gurned in a ridiculous expression. Gentle Celtic music played in the background.
After a few minutes she looked up, an automatic smile on her lips. This time of day, it’d be a local, though not anyone she knew that well, otherwise they’d have said something by now. Even so, at the edge of her awareness, there was a feeling of strangeness. An unknown presence. The faint smell of the sea in the rain, even over the incense smoke.
He stood in the doorway, looking at her. Smiling at her in such a way that made it feel that he knew her.
‘Oh! Morning.’ Faye pulled her glasses onto her nose from where they held her auburn hair back from her face; without them, her long fringe feathered her eyes. Irritated, she pushed the hair away, only for it to fall straight back again. She peered through the glasses at him. ‘Come in.’
The man gave her an odd look, and gazed around him before stepping through the doorway into the shop. Faye shivered as he did so, but it was cold outside, still raining. It occurred to her that he was taking his time to come in, but sometimes people who hadn’t been to the shop before were a little unsure about it, on account of it being a witchy shop, even though it was warm and welcoming inside.
‘Welcome,’ she added, with a smile, to reassure him.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Tall. That was her first thought. His face was slightly long, high-cheekboned. Afterwards she couldn’t say what he wore; something nondescript, perhaps dark coloured, which didn’t matter anyway. It was his blue-green eyes that transfixed her; and when he spoke, his mouth, which had a slight sulky fullness. Lips that wanted to be kissed; a bottom lip that deserved biting.
He had asked a question, and she had no idea what it was. Without thinking, she stood up, turned away and put the charm down in an open box behind her, then turned back to him.
‘I’m sorry?’ she asked, suddenly and completely befuddled and appalled at herself for thinking about kissing this man at the first time of seeing him. This never happened.
‘I said, nice shop you’ve got here.’ His voice was slightly accented; she half-frowned, trying to place it.
‘Oh. Thanks.’ She smiled, her heart racing. Faye was suddenly very aware of her own breathing; it was as if she was back in the school play that she still had nightmares about now and again. It had been her turn to say two lines in The Lion King, but when the time came, she’d gone completely blank and stared out at the smiling crowd of parents, sweating in fear. Afterwards, Moddie had hugged her, said it was no bother. Nobody even noticed, sweetheart, she’d laughed; mussed Faye’s hair. But Faye had felt like a failure. In times of stress she still dreamed of being onstage with nothing to say.
‘How long has it been here?’ He smiled down at her again, and his eyes lit up with an odd glow when he did. They were strange, luminous: exactly like the sea on a cloudy day, when the sun came through the clouds and the colour of the sea changed from grey-green to jewelled blue.
‘Oh. It opened in the seventies. It’s always been our house, though. Belonging to my family, that is.’ She felt as though she was jabbering. Faye took a deep breath while pretending to take a sip of coffee. ‘You’re not local. What brings you here?’ she managed to ask over the rim of her faerie mug.
‘Adventure.’ The stranger ran two long fingers along the glass top of the shop counter, looking down at the pendants and rings showcased underneath. Faye stared; he was rough-shaven, and his slight beard was a dark blonde like his shoulder-length dirty blonde hair. He leaned in closer to her. He didn’t have the air of a young man – he was too centred, too present for that, and she got no sense of that pressing need so many men under thirty had to impress, to demand her attention as a child would with their arrogance and showiness. Yet he had few lines on his face; no grey hair that she could see.
‘This one is beautiful.’ His voice was low; his face was inches from hers. Ordinarily, it would have been an invasion of personal space, but the idea didn’t even cross her mind; she was spellbound.
He looked up, and time seemed to slow. Faye felt his gaze on hers and it was as though a mist descended, obscuring the shop, leaving only her and the stranger in the middle, like the eye of a storm; the quiet inside a tornado. She felt a sense of shifting, as if she was not secure on the ground at all, but instead had her feet in wet sand as the tide washed in and out, pulling her in, burying her feet deeper and deeper. Dimly she remembered a similar sensation after the love spell, when the door had flown open in the wind. But while that had been fear and disorientation, this was a kind of pleasant fugue.
She didn’t know what he was pointing to; she couldn’t look away from his eyes. It was exactly how she’d felt before, in the seconds before kissing someone for the first time: a sweet anticipation, a sense of an incredible longing filling the tiny inch of air between their lips.
How would it feel to kiss that full-lipped mouth? The hint of a smile played at its corner; Faye’s own soft lips parted involuntarily. Even though she’d kissed her share of men before, there had been no-one with this sense of immediate attraction; no other sweet, hot crackling energy as this was, making her li
ghtheaded. It wasn’t necessarily just him, but in her too. A heat that lit her up from the tips of her toes to her forehead.
She noticed part of a tattoo, half-hidden by the collar on his t-shirt. She couldn’t make out what it was, but the part she could see against his tanned neck was blue; the top edge of an animal head, perhaps. From his neck, her gaze dropped to his well-muscled chest which was obvious even under his t-shirt, which wasn’t especially fitted. He was rangy but strong; athletic, healthy, like he spent a lot of time outdoors.
Without meaning to, Faye sighed. Somehow, the introduction of her breath into the small space between them blew away the mist that had hidden the rest of the world. She felt her return to the mundane hard and unwelcome, like a change in the temperature. As if someone had opened the door to her cosy shop again and the icy draught had swept in.
Faye jumped and dropped her cup; coffee spilled over her laptop keyboard which was open on the counter. She had been meaning to start the quarterly accounts but hadn’t been able to bring herself to focus on it yet.
‘Oh, no. Oh, god. Sorry. I…’ Hurriedly she picked up the mug and looked around for a rag to soak up the coffee from the computer. ‘No, no, no!’ she muttered. Not finding anything to hand, she tore off her plain green long-sleeved t-shirt, thankful she had a top on underneath, and dabbed the laptop keyboard.
‘Here.’ He held out the cleaning cloth she’d been using.
‘Oh. Thanks. Sorry,’ she repeated, feeling stupid and annoyed at herself. This is what you get for mooning over the first good-looking man that comes in since the bloody shop opened, she chastised herself, thinking also that she was glad Annie wasn’t here. She’d take great pleasure in teasing her about this for years to come. Faye, remember when that gorgeous blonde guy came in? Ye can’t be trusted with a hot drink. Faye, we’re gonna need to get ye oven gloves for when the fellas are around!
Daughter of Light and Shadows Page 4
