Bourn’s Edge (3 page)

In one smooth motion, Tarian nocked the arrow, drew, and shot. But the crow had already wheeled away and was heading towards the trees, and her arrow fell short.

“I will give her your message,” came its guttural croak. Then it vanished into the forest.

“THIS WOULD BE your room.” The landlady, a middle-aged, motherly woman with brown curls, laughter lines, and a smudge of flour on her right cheek, stepped aside to allow Cassie past. “Toilet and shower are through there.”

She pointed to a door, and Cassie put down her travel bag and popped her head round it. The little lemon-scented bathroom was spotless, the white towels on the handrail freshly laundered. She withdrew and gave the bedroom the once over.

It was a bit on the small side, the double bed taking up most of the space, and a small armchair hogging what remained, but from what she could see there was sufficient storage space for her needs. A shelf housed an electric kettle and some cups, saucers, and sachets of instant coffee, creamer, and sugar. And on one of the two occasional tables sat a TV/DVD player.

“It’s very nice, Mrs. Hayward. I’ll take it.”

“Good.” The lines round the landlady’s eyes deepened as she smiled. “Call me Liz.” She held out a hand.

“Cassie Lewis. Call me Cassie.”

They shook hands. Liz had a powerful grip. Cassie could picture her making her Victoria Sponges the old-fashioned way.

“As it’s April, you get my out of season rate,” continued Liz, straightening the duvet, which sported cheerful scarlet poppies. “Stay three nights in a row, I throw in the fourth night free. You get your own front door key. There are only two house rules: no pets and no smoking. If you need any more supplies,” she pointed to the sachets, “just ask.” She turned to face Cassie. “How long are you planning on staying?”

“Um.” Cassie shifted. “I’m not sure. Could we start off with a week? Would that be all right?”

“Fine with me, dear.” Liz gave her a reassuring smile. “Full English breakfast included, of course.” She paused and looked a question. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” Cassie shook her head. “Will you be wanting supper? I do a main course and dessert for twelve pounds.”

“Please.”

“Plain cooking, I’m afraid. If you want wine, you’ll have to provide your own.”

“That’s okay.”

“I can do you a packed lunch too, if you’d like. A sandwich, crisps, cake, and fruit. Three pounds fifty I charge for that.”

Cassie considered. Her cash would only stretch so far. “No thanks. I’ll get myself something from the shop. There’s a post office store further along the road, isn’t there?”

“Yes. But don’t leave it too late. Today’s early closing.”

Do they still do that?
wondered Cassie. Evidently in Bourn’s Edge they did.

It became Liz’s turn to look awkward. “I’m afraid I’ll need a cash deposit.” She fiddled with her thumbnail. “£70 should be enough.”

“Of course. My money’s in my luggage. Will it be all right if I bring it down when I’ve unpacked?”

Liz nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready. I’m baking.” That explained the flour. “I’ll leave you to get settled then.” With a last smile, Liz closed the door behind her.

Cassie sat on the bed and gave it an experimental bounce, then leaned back against the headboard and let her shoulders relax. She yawned. Her eyes felt gritty, her mouth stale. Still, she had a roof over her head and main meals for a week. It was a start.

She unpacked, put away her things, and stuffed the landlady’s deposit in the back pocket of her jeans. Then she wandered over to the window. From this angle, the top of the scarecrow’s head was visible. His ears stuck out, and he had a bald patch. Odd thing to have in your front garden. She’d have to ask Liz about it.

Cassie’s eyes tracked the short path to the front gate and to the car parked outside. Daylight revealed the full extent of the damage. She made a mental note to ask Liz for the whereabouts of the nearest garage. Later, though. She didn’t feel up to that at the moment. She didn’t feel up to ringing the police either, though she must. In fact she didn’t feel up to anything much except gazing out, first at the houses on the other side of the road, then at the backdrop formed by the hills on the far side of the valley. It was beautiful here, quiet, and unreal.

Am I safe?
Time would tell.

She leaned her back against the windowsill and studied the room that would be hers for the next few days. The bed looked inviting, so she crossed to it, lay down on its red poppies, and closed her eyes.

Just for a little while
.

Cassie woke from a nightmare in which a white van had just shunted her car off the edge of a ravine, and she was plummeting to her death. Her skin felt clammy and a headache threatened. She cursed herself for dozing off during the day—it never suited her.

With a groan, she went into the bathroom. She splashed her face with water, combed the tangles from her hair, and filled the kettle from the cold tap. Once the water had boiled, she sat in the little armchair sipping instant coffee. The caffeine kicked in, making her feel more human, and she set down the empty cup and saucer with a sigh of relief.

Outside, the light had shifted and brightened. A glance at her watch showed her two hours had elapsed. She got to her feet and patted her pocket to make sure the roll of banknotes was still there. Liz Hayward would be wondering what had happened to her money. She set off downstairs to give it to her.

TARIAN FLUNG DOWN her palette and paintbrush and stepped back from the easel. Everything that could go wrong this morning had. She’d run out of retarder medium, and the half-gallon jar of cobalt blue was almost empty. How could she have let her supplies run so low without noticing? She scowled at the canvas. Her usual delicacy of touch had deserted her. She couldn’t get the right effect, no matter what she tried. The forest scene refused to come to life and the horses looked like something a child might have drawn. Drysi could have done better with a paintbrush strapped to her paw.

Ever since she’d chased off the crow she had felt on edge, the way she sometimes did before a thunderstorm. But the patch of sky visible through her studio window was a clear blue. She tried to discount the feeling of pressure and unease, but deep down, she knew what it was. Something, or someone, was coming. Something that would turn her life upside down.

The knock at her back door was loud enough to be audible in the studio. It set off the dogs, who started whining and yelping. They must know the caller, whoever it was. She put her brush to soak in a jar of water and hurried through to the kitchen.

“Stop that.”

The dogs quietened and sank to their haunches.

The knock came again. Anyone from the village would have used her front door. She extended her senses and felt the unmistakeable presence of one of the Fae. Bracing herself, she lifted the latch.

“Einion.” It was the last person she had expected. He wore his hair tied back in a ponytail now. “You’ve changed your hair.”

“You’ve changed your clothes” He gestured at her sweatshirt and jeans. For a moment they grinned at one another, then he continued, “Are you going to invite me in?”

She glanced past him to the hawthorn tree, below which his horse was tethered, but there was no sign of the crow. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether Mab sent you.”

He looked amused rather than offended. Both knew his loyalty lay with the Queen and always would. “I’m here as a friend.”

“Come in, friend.” She stepped back.

Ducking his head to avoid the lintel—the forester’s house had been built for mortals and while Tarian had few problems, Einion was a head taller than she was—he stepped inside. While the dogs greeted him, tails wagging, he took in the shabby kitchen with a glance and a raised eyebrow but made no other comment. He took off his gloves and petted the dogs. They responded by licking his fingers. After a few seconds, Tarian called them off and sent them to their baskets.

Einion straightened, pocketed his gloves, and turned to her, his expression serious. “What made you think Mab had sent me?”

“Her spies have been watching me for three days in a row.”

“Then the news I bring will come as no surprise.”

Her heart sank. “Go on.” She gestured to one of the kitchen chairs and took another herself.

Chair legs scraped on the tiles as he sat. “Mab’s bored with her current champion. She wants a change.”

Tarian snorted. “I’m surprised Cadel held her interest as long. There’s not much between his ears.”

“What’s between his legs makes up for it,” said Einion. “Or so they tell me.”

Tarian grunted. “And?”

“She wants you back.”

“Ah.”

The only sound in the kitchen was the panting of the dogs and an occasional soft crackle from the boar roasting in the Aga’s oven. From the back garden came the trill of a blackbird.

“What are you going to do?” asked Einion at last.

“Nothing. Mab gave me her word. I haven’t broken our agreement, and neither will she.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.”

She stood up, irritated. “Moon and stars! I thought we’d been through all this, Einion. She knows I no longer desire to be her champion. She exiled me for it.”

“Since when has anyone else’s desire concerned Mab?” Loyalty had never blinded him to the Queen’s shortcomings.

“It’s done with. Over.” Tarian began to pace. “She knows that.”

“Are you sure?” She turned to him in surprise. He shrugged. “Perhaps she knows you better than you know yourself. You can’t tell me this”—he gestured at her surroundings, at the dozing wolfhounds—“is enough. Not after the way things used to be.”

“I can.” She glared at him. “Because it is.”

His eyebrows rose. “Saying it is doesn’t make it so. Come now, Tarian. Be honest with an old friend. Don’t you miss it? The excitement, the splendour? The balls and tournaments? Having the Queen look with favour on you?”

“No. And I don’t miss the blood on my hands either.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“Good for you. But don’t tell me you’re not lonely. That you don’t miss the company of an equal.”

It was true that her days were often long and empty, for all she tried to fill them with her dogs and her paintings. She glared at him. He had always been able to spot where she was most vulnerable. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” He gave her a knowing look. “Admit it, Tarian. You were born to be the Queen’s champion. Swallow your pride, and your anger, and come home while Mab’s feeling merciful.”

She shook her head. “This is my home now.”

“Among these puny creatures with their petty concerns?”

“Mortals aren’t as puny or petty as you think, Einion. I’ve got to know them, and I find them . . . refreshing. They still have compassion. They help each other.”

Her answer seemed to concern him. “There’s no future in such attachments, Tarian.” He held her gaze. “Mortals live but mayfly lives. Could you watch one grow old and die? You grieve when one of your dogs dies.”

“I don’t know.” She made one final effort to explain. “But don’t you see? If things had continued the way they were, I would have become another Mab, thought nothing of using anyone for my own amusement.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then you don’t know me as well as you think.” She sighed. “The truth is I was tired of it. So tired that if the Queen hadn’t offered me exile, I would have welcomed my unmaking.”

That seemed to shock him, and he was quiet for a while, perhaps remembering when Mab had used the power that was hers alone. An unmaking was never pretty. A shiver ran down Tarian’s spine as she remembered the last one she had witnessed. At Mab’s gesture, the Fae’s body had collapsed in on itself like an empty wineskin.

“So,” said Einion at last. “What will you do now?”

She was glad he had given up trying to convince her to return. “What I’ve been doing.”

“They told me you had become an artist. I didn’t believe them.”

“Believe it. It’s honest work, and I’m good at it. Well, except for today, for some reason.”

“But will you be happy?”

“Happier than if I came back.”

“Very well.” He stood up, stretched the stiffness from his shoulders, and pulled on his gloves. “My apologies if I upset you, Tarian. I have your best interests at heart.”

She nodded.

He pulled her into a loose embrace and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Now you know Mab’s intentions. The rest is up to you.”

Chapter 4

“Blimey!” The garage owner, whose name was Mike and whose spiky haircut and acne made him look seventeen though he must be older, wiped his hands on an oily rag and frowned at the damaged boot.

“You should see the other fellow,” joked Cassie, remembering the smoke and flames rising from the white van’s bonnet.

“I’ll have to order a new bumper from Ludlow—that could take a week. As for getting those dents out, you’re looking at a solid morning’s work.” He sucked his teeth. “I’m afraid it’s going to cost you.”

Cassie sighed. “Do what you have to. I’m staying at the B & B.”

“Liz Hayward’s place?” She nodded. “Righto. Leave your car with me, Miss Lewis, and I’ll give Liz a bell when it’s ready. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She gave Mike her car keys and set off walking back down through the village to the B & B.
Stranded in Bourn’s Edge for a week. Still, it could be worse
.

The church, which was quite old, judging by the shabby state of its spire, shared a little car park with the church hall next door. In it stood a scarecrow wearing a dog collar and crucifix, his hand raised in benediction.

Cassie halted and stared.
What is it with these scarecrows?

A middle-aged man, sporting the same bad haircut and unkempt beard as the Archbishop of Canterbury, emerged from the church porch. He was wearing a dog collar. Cassie snorted at the striking resemblance between the scarecrow and the vicar, for the man was clearly that. He called over his shoulder to someone inside the porch and threw Cassie a distracted smile as he walked past her.