The MacGregor (19 page)

The horse's owner, Callum Campbell, was a happy man. Which, in Sean's experience, was a state of affairs that usually only lingered while a horse was in good form. Still, Sean intended to enjoy the moment. A good win would not only please Campbell, but may also bring some new blood into the yard. Winners all around, with luck.

The kettle let out a manic scream and he got up to make coffee. He jumped and spilled boiling water down his shirt as he caught sight of a face peering in at the window. It was not just the painful sensation of scalded skin that made him curse.

He put the kettle down and stared at Ginny in dismay. What the hell should he do? She smiled and he forced himself to smile back even as he wondered why she hadn't gone to the door. It occurred to him then that perhaps she'd been checking to make sure he was home and he had caught her unawares. Or something creepier. Had she been looking for a way to sneak in?

Either way, it didn't help him. Reluctantly he reached over the sink and opened the window. ‘Hi, Ginny, what's up?'

She laughed. ‘Why should anything be up?'

He was silent for a moment, trying to find a way to get rid of her politely. ‘No reason. What can I do for you?'

Her eyes wandered to the wet spot on his shirt and back to his eyes. ‘Do you need help to change?'

His mouth went dry. ‘No, I'm quite mature for my age, I can dress on my own.'

She smiled but her eyes were like two bottomless wells. ‘Just kidding! I only wanted to talk about the work roster, can you spare a few moments?'

Sean felt panic crawl up his skin like termites. At this stage he did not need either the witches' or Megan's urgings to keep Ginny at bay. Frankly, she scared the crap out of him. But he put on a show of thinking about her request. He glanced regretfully at his laptop on the desk. ‘I'm sorry, Ginny, but I'm busy. We'll catch up in the yard this afternoon.' He waited, nerves jangling, half expecting her to leap through the window in a murderous rage. But she didn't.

Instead, her features melted into misery as a single tear welled up from her eye and rolled down her flawless cheek.

Sean was horrified. He'd almost prefer a blood-sucking frenzy. He felt terrible for misjudging her. She was really upset. ‘Tell you what, why don't I come down to the yard in ten minutes and we'll try to get it sorted?'

Another tear formed and quivered on the edge of her black eyelashes.

‘Tell you what, I'll come now —' But he had lost his audience. Ginny was gone. No, she was just outside the garden gate looking to the road. Sean startled as if he had just woken from sleep. What the hell was going on? Ginny turned and looked at him. He could have sworn he heard her hiss. And then she left. Seconds later he could hear the hum of her moped. Sean held his breath, the better to hear. The sound finally faded.

A few moments later he was still at the window when he heard a car crunch up the drive. He went to the front door and peered out cautiously. He was delighted to see the two dotty witches get out of their car. His hand reached for the acorn. It was definitely time to talk.

Megan woke up and stretched. It was light outside. She could hear Grandad talking to the fox cub in the kitchen. She smiled but couldn't help a small pang of possessiveness. It was her cub after all.

She jumped out of bed and, after careful consideration, put on jeans, a tee-shirt, and a pair of Doc Martens. Today was going to be a big day.

In the kitchen the cub was filling her face with a bowl of porridge. Grandad sat at the table whittling a lure from a cork. He looked up. ‘Porridge?'

Megan nodded. ‘Thanks.'

As she ate she mused over her conversation with Grandad the night before. He had taken her seriously, listening until she'd finished. In the end he made no comment and gave no advice. Just nodded and lit his pipe. Still, Megan was reassured. If Grandad wasn't too worried, then neither was she. He had, however, reminded her that mortal or not, nothing had changed. Grandad still expected Sean to rock up before the next full moon. Dammit. She only had a week.

Neither of them had mentioned the visit from the Last Of The Free, but his ghost hovered slyly between them. Megan scraped the last of the porridge from her bowl and scowled. She wasn't going to be bullied into a match she didn't want.

Determined to evade the phantom of Rory Wallace, Megan turned her mind to the night ahead. First she had to go shopping and at nightfall she would go get Sean and take him to the Jackal and Hide. Twofold reason. A kind of ‘first date' and, less enticing, a catch-up with Douglas.

Finished, she took her bowl to the sink and laughed. The fox cub was curled around Grandad's neck, her head hanging down one shoulder, eyes closed. And Megan had a name for her. Tippet. Because she could have easily been mistaken for one.

She paused to stroke the vixen, who didn't stir. ‘We'll call her Tippet, Grandad.'

Grandad nodded. ‘That'll do.'

But she knew he was pleased. ‘I'm going out, if that's all right,' she said. ‘Do you need a hand with anything before I go?'

He shook his head. ‘No, but have a care, Megan. Something is unfolding around us that is yet unclear. Do not underestimate the Campbells. They have not succeeded so well because they are simply lucky.'

Megan was shaken. Never before had she heard her grandfather voice caution. And at some level she understood that Sean was part of his concern. ‘Grandad, do you know something about Sean?'

Grandad patted the cub and was silent. Finally he looked at her. ‘Megan, from the time of Amergin there have been rare men born with great power. They have been worshipped as saints and feared as sinners. But since Merlin there has been a void. I both hope and fear that the man that you seek to join with may be the next of these great men.'

Megan stared at him in astonishment. She only half believed the old stories. But now she found it harder to dismiss. After all, she had witnessed Sean's speaking of the old tongue herself. Suddenly she wished she hadn't dismissed Rory Wallace so quickly. He might have had something to add to the equation. There was something definitely offbeat about Sean. But a…magician? It seemed so unlikely.

She washed the bowl absent-mindedly. ‘Grandad, did Rory say anything about Sean?'

Grandad chuckled. ‘Yes, but nothing that was exactly complimentary. Rory is a man well used to getting his own way. Your inclination to follow your heart is an anathema to him. But, while he said little, I suspect he knows more.'

Megan washed a cup and digested all of this. It was fascinating. But, she concluded, ultimately the answers lay with Sean. And he had promised to tell all his secrets.

She left Grandad and Tippet down at the boat, readying the nets for the night. While she was miffed by Tippet's defection, her heart warmed at the sight of Grandad tenderly caring for the cub. The salty air filled her lungs and a sea eagle mourned along the cliff top. Breakers frothed over the pebbly beach. Megan's heart filled with happiness. What a lucky girl she was. With a final wave she set off briskly. It was going to be a marvellous day.

Sean set the teapot on the table and Lydia poured. Nancy pulled out a container of scones and smaller ones of cream and jam. There was a reverent silence as the party munched contentedly.

It was Lydia who started conversation. ‘Sean, how are you?'

He grinned. ‘Awesome.'

Nancy giggled and Lydia glared at her. Nancy's mirth subsided behind a paper napkin.

Lydia continued. ‘You know what I mean. How are you after the potion we put in the fridge?' She paused and frowned. ‘You did find it, didn't you?'

Sean hastily swallowed his last bite of scone and nodded. ‘Sure did. It too was awesome. What was in it?'

Nancy exchanged a knowing look with Lydia. ‘Blue food colouring, vitamin A and a spoonful of sugar.'

Sean was nonplussed. ‘Sorry?'

Lydia smiled. ‘Blue food colouring —'

‘Yes, I got that,' said Sean impatiently, ‘but what else?'

‘Nothing,' said Lydia.

Sean looked at Nancy, expecting to find her rosy cheeks dimpled with amusement. Instead her eyes met his steadily. ‘So,' he said slowly, ‘you're telling me that it wasn't a potion. It was a —'

‘Placebo,' said Sarah helpfully.

Sean looked at them both carefully. ‘Placebo?'

Lydia nodded. ‘Yes, a pill, if you must, that the patient thinks is medicine but actually isn't. Placebos can be extremely effective.'

Sean was gobsmacked. ‘So, you're trying to tell me that when I was running around the forest talking to the trees and stuff, it was all in my imagination?'

‘No,' said Nancy. ‘That was real.'

Sean was seriously confused.

Lydia cut a scone in half, loaded it with cream and jam and put it on Sean's plate. ‘Sean, what you must understand is that you don't need potions. You are a wizard. The power is in you. It always has been. You just need to learn to let it out and, ultimately, to channel it.'

Nancy topped up his mug with tea. ‘Everyone who practises The Craft is individual. So their magic is individual too. Some, like Lydia and I, do not have great ability. We can perform charms, whip up a love potion and enhance our power by joining with others. But that's all. Sarah, on the other hand, was one of the few who had the ability to blatantly defy the Vampyres. They were wary of her and tried for decades to wrestle Druids' Rest from her. When she died they must have thought that the old place was in their grasp. But Sarah outsmarted them even in death. The house didn't come on the market. She left it to you. And now they are spitting fireballs!'

Sean was riveted. ‘Why?'

Nancy licked cream off her fingers. ‘Because, in Druids' Rest lies the key to a weapon of great power.'

Sean could scarcely contain his impatience. ‘What kind of weapon?'

Lydia sipped her tea and put the cup carefully back in the saucer. ‘Wouldn't have a clue.'

Sean stared at her incredulously. ‘You mean you don't know?'

‘That's right, dear,' said Nancy. ‘Sarah was the guardian. But even she did not know what she was guarding. All she knew was that you were destined to be the one.'

‘The one what?'

Lydia tutted at him as if he were an imbecile. ‘The one to find the key, of course.'

And then Sean had a brilliant idea. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the acorn and put it triumphantly on the table.

The two witches looked at it but said nothing.

Sean, frothing at the mouth with excitement, jabbed a finger at it and proceeded to tell them the story of its acquisition.

When he'd finished, the two women picked it up and examined it minutely.

Lydia laid the acorn down. ‘So, what will you do with it?'

Sean felt his exhilaration shrink like a burst balloon. He laughed. ‘To be honest, I thought you might be able to tell me!'

Nancy shook her head. ‘I'm afraid not.' Sean's spirits sank but Nancy hadn't finished. ‘But Lydia does have something to show you.'

Lydia rustled inside her bag and pulled out a folded chart. She unfolded it carefully and spread it out on the table. Sean looked at it. It was a map. Lydia's finger pointed. ‘Just there, Sean.'

And he looked.

Megan loved the city on a Sunday. So sleepy. So unsuspecting. When she arrived at the store she looked up at the black and white sign.
Custom Classics
. Sweet. She peered through the sparkling clean windows. And sighed with delight. So many to admire. Such a smorgasbord to choose from. Her eyes leapfrogged from Triumphs to Harleys, from Yamahas to BMWs. Frankly, she wanted them all.

With her face squashed against the pane of glass she finally narrowed it down to two main contenders. A Bonneville Classic and the Harley Police Special. But she just couldn't make up her mind. A closer inspection was called for.

She stepped back and looked up and down the street. There was not a soul in sight. For a moment she listened, and finally tasted the air. All was well.

Megan stepped closer to the store and under the small entry, which gave a little shelter. And she closed her eyes. With the ease of practise she found the ancient pathways and plunged recklessly into the abyss. And she was no more.

Airborne, no more than silver mist, Megan left her clothes in a heap on the ground. She floated gently to the locked doors, brushed softly over the surface and slipped under the tiny gap at the bottom. Once inside she drifted around the huge showroom. At the back she stopped and hovered before rows of leather clothes, helmets and gloves. For a while she drifted back and forth, happily browsing.

And then, with her timeless magic, she found her way back from the abyss to her body. It was cool in the room and Megan was chilled. But she already knew what it was that she wanted. Minutes later she slipped into the change room and regaled herself in a lovely pair of leather pants, a black shirt with a cool picture of a wolf on the front, a red and black jacket and matching boots. Seriously, she looked fabulous. Reluctantly she stuck on a helmet and scowled. When she showed up at Sean's her hair would look like road kill. But it would be madness to draw attention to herself.

Dressed to kill, she made her way to the bikes. She was sorely tempted by the Police Special. The irony of it appealed. But in the end she settled on the Bonneville Classic, mainly because its tank was half full and, joy of joys, it had an electric start. Too easy.

The black beauty started up straight away. Megan spent a minute recalling all she'd learned on her ride with Douglas. It all seemed pretty straightforward. Then, after a few failed attempts, Megan wound the engine up until it was screaming and let rip. They rocketed across the tiled floor and hit the window like a battering ram. The sound of breaking glass reverberated in her ears as she screamed off down the road.