Bourn’s Edge (29 page)

Corryn scrambled to his feet, his expression one of annoyance. “I assure you, I had no intention of returning.” He tugged his jacket straight and brushed leaf mould off his jeans. “That bitch must have worked a translocation spell on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll get back to the mortal realm, and we’ll say no more about it.”

“Not so fast.” Einion gestured. The spear-carriers tied Corryn’s hands behind his back and prodded him towards the spare horse. “That you are here and under arrest is all that matters,” he said. “We will escort you to the Queen so she may pass judgment.”

Corryn’s expression became one of dawning dismay. “Didn’t you hear me?” he said, as his escorts forced him into the saddle before mounting up themselves. “This is Tarian’s doing not mine.
She
is the one who should be judged.”

But by then, no one was listening.

THOSE HEADLIGHTS ACROSS the valley must be a car making its way along the winding road to Bourn’s Edge.
So near and yet so far
, thought Cassie.

It was deathly quiet in the stone circle. So quiet she could hear the rise and fall of Anwar’s breathing and the thud of her own heart.
But not Tarian’s
. She held her hand close to Tarian’s lips and for a moment felt nothing. Then came an exhalation of warm breath so faint she almost missed it. Shakily she sat back and shifted Tarian’s head to make it more comfortable in her lap.

Hang in there, love
.

Cassie stroked the dark hair. Tarian’s forehead felt clammy, but she took comfort from the fact that it wasn’t yet cold. She glanced at Anwar. “You know how bad this is, don’t you?”

He lifted his head and gave her a gruff bark, then settled his head on his paws again.

What does that mean?
“I wish I could speak to you the way Tarian does.”

Anwar had helped to drag Tarian to the centre of the circle, gripping her by the collar of her sweatshirt and digging his paws into the turf. Earth energy would be most potent at the centre, Cassie supposed. Was Tarian banking on using it somehow to heal her wound? So far it seemed to have had little effect.

I hope this works, love. Because if it doesn’t, I’ll have sat here watching you bleed to death. And I don’t think I could live with that
.

One of the images Corryn had tormented her with surfaced: Tarian dying in her arms. Cassie jammed a fist in her mouth, but a sob escaped. Anwar lifted his head.

“It’s all right,” she told him, as much to convince herself.
It wasn’t real. I won’t let it be real
. She took a breath and let it out.
I hope you suffer for this, Corryn. I hope you rot in Hell or whatever the Faerie equivalent is
.

She shivered. Though the summer breeze that had sprung up was warm, it felt cold against her bare skin. In a vain attempt to slow Tarian’s bleeding, Cassie had stripped off her blouse and packed it around the dagger hilt. The blouse was soaked with blood.

If she held her watch close to her eyes, she could just make out the dial in the moonlight. She did so.
Three a.m
. This night seemed interminable.

Anwar got up off his haunches, stretched, and padded out of the circle.

“Where are you going?” she called after him, taken aback. The dog’s unexpected desertion left her feeling alone and afraid. “Looks like it’s just you and me, love.”

Tarian’s face had never looked so drawn. Cassie felt for her wrist. The pulse was there, but very faint. Never had she felt so helpless. The mournful hoot of an owl only served to amplify the vastness of the night. Even the usually friendly stars seemed uncaring, their progress through the heavens unaffected by the drama unfolding in the stone circle below them.

Clasping Tarian’s hand in a tight grip, Cassie sent out a silent plea to whoever might be listening,
Please don’t take her from me. I couldn’t bear it
.

Silence fell. It was as if the world were holding its breath. Then came the soft padding of feet.

A pulse pounded in her temples. Was it Corryn, returning to finish what he had started? Mouth dry, she draped herself around Tarian. He would have to come through her first.

As though he had just been for an early morning stroll, Anwar padded between the stones. At his heels trotted another wolfhound.

“Drysi!” Cassie uncurled herself and sat up in surprised relief. “Where did you come from?”

Anwar’s mate trotted over to greet Cassie, giving her cheek a long, loving lick, before turning to inspect Tarian. She nudged her mistress’s face with her nose, and, when there was no response, sank to her haunches and laid her head on her paws.

Cassie ruffled Drysi’s neck fur. “I know,” she said. “But you know what they say, ‘While there’s life, there’s hope.’”

Anwar settled down beside Drysi and heaved a very human-sounding sigh.

“I’m sorry.” Cassie transferred her petting to him. “I should have known you wouldn’t desert us.”

Abruptly, the hand Cassie was holding flexed and tried to free itself. At the same time, Anwar and Drysi got to their paws with soft eager barks. Tarian’s eyelids opened, and she looked around dazedly.

Cassie released her grip. “Are you all right?”

Tarian tried to sit up, gave a grunt of agony, and stopped. Sweat beaded her forehead. “Help me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“But your wound—”

“Cassie!” It was a cry of pain, a plea, and an order rolled into a single word, and Cassie stopped her objections at once. She helped Tarian into a sitting position, though it made her gasp and look like she was going to faint or vomit or both.

Fresh blood spilled over Tarian’s hands as she unpacked Cassie’s blouse from around the dagger and grasped its hilt. “Must get this out.”

She was too weak to manage it, though, so it fell to Cassie to do the honours. At first, blood slicked her fingers, and she lost her grip. But her second attempt was successful, and with an unpleasant sucking sound, the dagger came free.

Another agonised grunt from Tarian made Cassie’s insides twist in sympathy. “What now?” she asked.

Tarian waved Cassie to silence and visibly gathered her strength. As her trembling hands moved and her low murmur filled the circle, Cassie’s gaze switched between Tarian’s face and her wound. Each gesture Tarian made must be agony yet only the occasional gasp passed her lips. As the seconds passed, her pallor grew even paler, her features more drawn, but Cassie could do nothing to help. Then Tarian’s hands stilled and dropped to the turf, and her head fell forward on her chest.

It was a moment before a panicking Cassie registered that Tarian was still conscious, though barely. Then, to Cassie’s intense relief, the healing spell began to work its magic: first the deep tissue healed itself, then the more superficial layers, and finally the skin. Where the dagger had sliced open Tarian’s abdomen remained only a livid scar, and as Cassie watched in awe, even that faded.

Cassie wrapped her arms around Tarian, and felt her weakly return the embrace. Then Tarian jerked in her arms and let out a pained gasp.

Cassie loosened her grip. “What is it?”

“Backwash from the spell. Don’t worr—” Tarian’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she fainted.

As she lowered Tarian back onto the grass, the dogs lay down and went to sleep. Cassie’s tension eased.
If Tarian were still in danger, they wouldn’t be so calm
.

This time Tarian’s pulse was easier to find and was stronger and more regular. The clamminess in her temples had gone too, and that distressing pallor was easing. With a feeling of profound relief Cassie stroked Tarian’s hair.
She’s going to be all right!
It felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

Abruptly, a wave of exhaustion overtook her, and she became aware that she was shivering. She stretched out on the turf next to Tarian, but it was cold, so cold, and her only blouse was soaked with Tarian’s blood . . .

Something warm, furry, and smelling of dog draped itself over Cassie. Moments later a second furry presence joined the first. The dogs were heavy, but she didn’t tell them to get off. For the first time that long night, she felt warm and relaxed and able to sleep.

It would be dawn soon. She closed her eyes. Time enough then to see how Tarian’s return to health was progressing . . .

Chapter 6

Tarian shifted on the sitting room sofa and stifled a yawn. Sgt. Wilkins threw her a glance before returning his attention to Cassie.

“So you drove yourself home early this morning, Miss Lewis?” A shaft of afternoon sunlight through the sitting room window illuminated the page of his notebook. “Taking a bit of a risk, weren’t you?” He scratched his nose with the end of his pencil. “Driving so soon after a bump on the head and a bout of amnesia.”

Cassie sipped her tea. “I felt all right by then.”

In fact the car had driven itself home. Tarian hadn’t tried that particular spell before and was rather proud it had worked. She’d had little option, however. Cassie had been dead to the world, and Tarian was still too weak to translocate them all to Bourn’s Edge. Bishop’s Cross library, where Cassie parked, was much closer, so she had transported them there. While Cassie snored on the back seat of her car under a blanket of dogs, Tarian eased herself into the cramped driver’s seat—no sense in alarming other road users with an apparently driverless car—switched on the ignition, and instructed the controls to look after themselves.

Cassie glanced at the teapot. “Would you like another cup of tea, Sergeant? Cake?”

“Better not.” He gave the chocolate cake a regretful glance and indicated his spreading waistline. “My wife has me on a diet.”

“Ah,” said Cassie. She smiled as Tarian helped herself to more cake. Last night had badly depleted her energy reserves, and she was ravenous.

Sgt. Wilkins finished jotting, folded up his notebook, and tucked it and his pencil in his breast pocket. “Well, I think that’s all for now.” He stood up, and Tarian stood up too. “I’m glad things turned out all right in the end, Miss Lewis. But I should get that bump looked at, if I were you. Head wounds can be tricky.”

“I will,” said Cassie.

His glance travelled to Tarian. “You’re looking a bit peaky yourself, Miss Brangwen. The worry, I expect.”

Unoffended, Tarian smiled at him and showed him out.

When she returned to the sitting room, Cassie was frowning. “I’ll have to go to casualty, won’t I?” she said. “Or there’ll be questions.”

Tarian sat next to her on the sofa and clasped her hand. “Want me to make the doctors ‘see’ a bump on the back of your head?”

“Can you do that?”

Tarian nodded. “With a glamour.”

“But a glamour won’t work on a machine, surely?”

“Does that matter? As you told Sgt. Wilkins, it was only a minor bump.”

“Skin deep.” Cassie’s face cleared. “So it wouldn’t have shown up on a scanner anyway.” She threw Tarian a relieved smile. “All right then. A glamour it is.”

THE NINE SISTERS encircled Cassie like massive gravestones. It was silent inside the ring, unnaturally so, and a full moon in eclipse had bathed the turf in crimson. A sense of foreboding swept over her.

Corryn pointed to the dagger lying at his feet and clicked his gloved fingers. “Kill her.”

As in a dream, Cassie watched herself stoop, pick up the razor-sharp weapon, and swing round. A helpless puppet, she lurched to where Tarian stood frozen. Only the sweat beading Tarian’s forehead and the fury in her eyes betrayed the struggle she was waging to break free of Corryn’s enchantment.

Cassie had her own battle to fight. With all her strength she willed herself to stop walking.
I won’t hurt her! You can’t make me
. But she was a passenger in her own body. She took another step towards Tarian. And another.

Corryn watched her with a smile.

Cassie’s legs brought her to a halt in front of Tarian. She gripped the dagger firmly, raised it . . . and plunged it deep into Tarian’s stomach.

No! she tried to scream, as Tarian’s eyes closed, and she went limp, held upright only by Corryn’s enchantment. Then blood was pumping along the dagger’s hilt, flowing over Cassie’s hands and jeans, and spilling down onto the moon-dyed turf. The cloying, coppery scent of it filled her nostrils, and she stared in horror at the slowly widening circle. Nausea rose in her throat. So much blood! How was it possible?

Before the glistening red pool could touch his boots and with an expression of distaste, Corryn stepped back

“No!” screamed Cassie, finding her voice at last. “Tarian!”

Corryn threw back his head and laughed.

Cassie woke with a gasp and sat up. Her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest, and she reached out blindly, found the bedside light, and switched it on. With a sense of overwhelming relief she took in the familiar surroundings—the shabby dressing table with her hairbrush on it, Tarian’s dressing gown hanging from the hook on the bedroom door . . .

She turned, disoriented and fearful, to find a tousled-looking Tarian pushing herself up on one elbow in bed beside her.

“What is it?” Tarian’s voice was husky with sleep. Her gaze sharpened as she took in Cassie’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

At the sight of her, alive and well, Cassie burst into tears.

Tarian sat up and took her in her arms. “It was only a nightmare,” she said.

Cassie tried to speak, but the intensity of her emotion made it impossible. Sobbing, she clung to Tarian, who leaned them both back against the pillows.

“Whatever it was you dreamed, it was just that: a dream,” said Tarian, stroking Cassie’s hair, her back. “You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing can harm you.”

Wisps of Cassie’s nightmare threatened to resurface, kept at bay only by the warmth and strength of the arms holding her. She clung even more fiercely, and Tarian tightened her grip in response. They stayed that way for a long time.