Shawn’s laugh surprised me. ‘Can’t you think of anything bigger? More off the chart? I know that someone must have said something to you, because suddenly you looked at us like we had a three-headed dog guarding our clubhouse.’
His candid tone drew my gaze to his. ‘What do you mean, bigger?’ I asked, as if I didn’t know.
‘Like … you and me.’ His eyes were all confirmation and warmth and persuasion. ‘And what we could do together.’
I watched him warily, wondering where he was going with this new honesty tactic. ‘You mean, the superstition.’
‘What if it was true?’ He rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand. ‘But not just good luck. What if we could make good things happen for people?’
‘You mean, like, grant wishes?’ I was distracted by the stroke of his thumb on my skin. It lulled my curiosity, the way I lulled Gigi to sleep by petting her belly.
‘Maybe not automatically or overnight.’ Switching his grip, he interlaced our fingers. ‘Davis and Maddox. Not every generation, but sometimes, when the timing works out, we can do incredible things here. Make this place what it once was. A centre of things.’
For a breathless moment, his words held me in their spell. Then Gigi jumped in my lap, and I jerked in surprise, and broke Shawn’s gentle grip on my hand.
‘That’s nuts,’ I said, not talking about the supernatural but the way I’d just sat there, drinking in what he was telling me. When had I made the leap from magic is possible to magic is reasonable?
Shawn laughed. ‘I know. Like seeing ghosts, it sounds nuts.’
I uneasily remembered my theory about crying wolf. Had Shawn been establishing plausible deniability so that he could talk about these things to me, and I couldn’t tell anyone?
‘What are you saying, Shawn?’ It was a demand for him to be straight with me. Gigi’s body seemed very warm in my arms. It made me realize how cold my skin had gotten. No ghostly chill – it was coming from inside.
‘I’m not saying anything.’ He stood, casually turning to walk out of the gap in the hedges as he fired one last shot. ‘Except that you should think about it a day or two. If there was such a thing as magic, what would you do with it?’
I didn’t need a day or two to know that. The answer took no thought, raised no moral dilemma. If it were within my power to do, I’d fix my leg so I could dance again.
Chapter 29
Clara finally won the battle, making me stop work in the late afternoon. I’d come in for some iced tea, and she swore if I didn’t quit for the day, she’d tell Paula I needed that shrink after all. I suspected she was bluffing, but I didn’t want to chance it.
As I closed the fridge, my eye fell on the calendar hung on the door. Clearly the master schedule. The Catfish Festival was marked, and my flight arrival. Also final exams, and cheerleading practice. Today’s notation jolted me with wary excitement. ‘There is a TTC meeting tonight,’ I said.
‘It seems like there’s a TTC meeting every night,’ Clara answered, but in a singsong ‘What’s a mom to do about it?’ way.
The calendar was loaded with meetings, not necessarily on the same day of the week or month, but there was always one on the full and new moons. Tonight’s moon was full.
Shawn hadn’t mentioned it, despite a clear intention to invite me eventually, so he either thought I wasn’t ready yet, or there was something he needed to do without me there.
Which meant that I absolutely needed to find out what was going on at those meetings.
I climbed the stairs slowly, Gigi bounding in front of me. I was strangely bubbling with energy too, but it was focused on making a plan. I’d have to act as normal as possible, then sneak out of the house right after Addie. I was getting better at managing Paula, but Rhys was the unknown factor.
I had a good game face, but this kind of subterfuge wasn’t my strength. Still, a tide of determination carried me forward. I just hoped I wasn’t hurtling over another bluff, because I couldn’t rely on anyone to catch me this time.
After dinner, I paced with waiting-backstage impatience in my room, watching for the arrival of the TTC. I couldn’t see where they parked out on the drive, but I could see the glow of lights through the half-opaque screens of the summerhouse, and I could watch the path Addie would have to take to join them. When I saw her walking purposefully across the lawn, I scooped up Gigi and headed for the stairs.
The landing was quiet, and the gap under Rhys’s door was dark. I walked downstairs and oh-so-casually went into the den, where Paula and Clara were watching TV while darning socks and folding towels, respectively.
Clara glanced at me and kept folding. ‘Sylvie, your jeans are in the dryer. So you’ll be all set to dirty them up again tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Clara.’ I gestured with my thumb towards the kitchen. ‘I’m going to take the dog for a walk, then call it a night.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘After all the work you did today.’
Paula lowered the sock she was darning and looked at me sternly. ‘You stay close to the house, after what we talked about, OK?’
Clara snapped a towel open, then brought the corners together. ‘She’ll be OK. The kids are in the summerhouse for their meeting tonight. As long as she stays out of the woods, she’ll be fine.’
I sincerely hoped so. My stomach fluttered nervously, but I kept my stage face on, asking, as if it didn’t matter, ‘Are the Griffiths still out?’
The women exchanged glances, Clara’s amused and tolerant, Paula’s less so. ‘I don’t keep tabs on them,’ said Paula, in an ‘I’m not your social secretary’ tone. ‘But the professor mentioned they might be back late.’
This was good for my plan, so I told myself not to be irked or disappointed that Rhys seemed to have abandoned me to my choice. He had to know the TTC was meeting tonight. Wasn’t he curious what I would do? Or did he assume he knew?
First, I had to deal with Paula. If I swallowed her implied critique without comment, she would know something was up. ‘I only asked,’ I said testily, ‘because I might have a nice long soak in the tub after I walk Gigi, and I don’t want to feel guilty for tying up the bath.’
Paula gave a long-suffering sigh at my attitude. ‘Don’t use all the hot water. A second tank is still on the list of improvements for the place.’
Clara just chuckled and said, ‘Have a nice walk, Sylvie.’
My groundwork laid, I said goodnight and headed to the back of the house, Gigi tucked under my arm. On the porch, I took a deep breath and slipped her into her crate. She tilted her head, questioning me, and my heart squeezed, as if I were leaving her behind for good.
But the only thing worse than splitting up our team was the thought of putting her in danger. Chihuahuas know no fear, even when they should. Maybe we had that in common.
‘Not this time, girl,’ I whispered. The position of the crate would hide her from a casual glance, and the big pile of laundry would keep Clara busy for a while.
The nervous flutters in my stomach spread to my knees as I left the concealment of the back yard. I couldn’t approach the summerhouse directly, because it was all open lawn, so I headed for the tree line, moving quickly, but trying not to look like I was moving stealthily. Once I reached the cover of the trees, I changed direction.
I snuck up from the river side, away from the door. The soft, flickering glow in the gazebo was, thankfully, not enough to spill out onto the surrounding ground. The moon was bright but still low, and I could keep to the shadows of the trees almost right up to the raised foundation.
Breathing in shallow, silent huffs, I pressed against the peeling wood, hunkering below floor level so I couldn’t be seen, but I could hear the low drone of voices.
The wordless chant was so eerie and out of place that I almost doubted my senses. But what lifted the hair on my neck and arms wasn’t what I heard, but what I sensed. This was a ritual sound, full of potential, thick and opaque somehow, murky as the silt of a ri
ver bottom, hiding silent, swift things below.
It was not kid stuff. I should be feeling satisfied that I was right, or at least relieved that I wasn’t crazy. But as I pressed myself tightly against the half-wall, inches from discovery, my heart pounded like a timpani.
I could smell candle wax and incense, or something like it. Burning greens and wood, like the bundle of herbs I’d found. What else was going on? Somehow it was more frightening not to be able to see but only imagine. Oh God. Don’t let there be snake handling involved.
‘All right,’ said Addie’s voice. ‘We’re convened.’ This was jarringly matter-of-fact, but the tingle of power still hung in the air, woven into the smoke and the echo of the chant. And Addie sounded different. Instead of petulant, her tone reflected the confidence I’d seen on Sunday.
She continued in the same tone. ‘Everyone put your intentions in the bowl. You know what we’re supposed to be doing here, so I don’t want anyone putting in something selfish, like a new fishing boat, Jeff. We all agreed what’s best for the town.’
A frown knotted my forehead. Really? I’d thought the TTC was just a cover. If Shawn and the circle were trying to do good by Maddox Landing, then what was Rhys so bent about?
Someone else spoke, and I thought it might be Jeff, just based on his tone. ‘If we burn the slips of paper, how will we know you didn’t put in something for yourself, Addie?’
‘Keep on target, people,’ said Shawn, his voice so deep with authority I almost didn’t recognize it. No boyish Tom Sawyer charm here. This was powerful and mature, like – I struggled for a comparison – like the ancient stone in my garden.
‘The circle involves trust,’ he said, and I shivered, because the surface of his statement was reassuring, but there was a darker thread beneath. ‘I put in my paper. I trust you all to stick to the plan. So let’s get on with it.’
I could visualize the scene startlingly well, the TTC all putting their wishes in the pot, like votes at the Vatican. I steeled myself as the chant began again, the voices of the circle joining a bit raggedly, like you might expect from a bunch of teens. Then they knit together and intensified, and I heard Shawn start to speak. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but the words trailed down my spine like frigid drops of water, spreading the cold of fear.
My pulse beat light and fast under my prickling skin. Anything seemed possible in the building energy of the night. I started to rise from my crouch, just to peek, like looking under your bed when you were sure there was a monster there. I hadn’t done more than shift my weight when someone reached out of the shadows and pulled me back down, covering my mouth as I sucked in a terrified breath to scream.
‘Shh.’ Rhys whispered in my ear, too softly to carry through the screen to the circle inside. ‘Just stay here.’
I wasn’t going anywhere with his arm holding me so tightly to his chest that I could feel his heart thudding against my back, as if he was as afraid as I was. His breath stirred my hair against my face, and I realized how still the night was.
‘You’re here,’ I whispered inanely.
‘So are you.’ He didn’t sound angry, though. He sounded relieved, and I realized that what he meant was ‘You’re not inside.’
Shawn’s voice continued over the ebb and flow of the chant, raising gooseflesh on my skin. ‘What language is that?’ In the movies it was always Latin, but this was different.
Rhys listened for a moment. ‘Really bastardized Welsh, I think.’
‘You think?’ Wouldn’t he know?
‘His accent is so bad it might as well be Greek.’ His arm tightened around me in warning as the chant paused, as if for collective breath. I stayed still, muscles braced and tight, until the sound started again. After his one exhale of relief, Rhys spoke in my ear. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
I didn’t argue as he tugged me to my feet, pulling me with him across the shadowed lawn until we were hidden in the rustic palace of the towering oaks. The woods seemed to knit around us, but not in the terrifying way they’d fooled me the other night, when I’d seen Hannah here. This was comforting shelter, not a claustrophobic maze.
When we were well into the trees, I shook my fingers free of his grip and came to a stop, panting even though we hadn’t run very far or fast. ‘What was that?’ I asked in a ragged whisper.
Rhys ran a hand over his face, looking almost as shaken as I felt. ‘You said it yourself the other night. Magic.’
‘Thinking it is a lot different than feeling it.’ My brain whirred with fight-or-flight adrenaline, trying to hold onto as many details as possible and fit them into theories, all while dealing with holy crap, magic is real. ‘And you know about this stuff? I mean, not just this here, but—’ I made a wide, encompassing gesture, since this was so much more than I could yet wrap my mind around.
He shook his head, scattered and distracted. ‘My experience has been similar but different.’
‘Different how?’ My whisper was harsh with demand.
He paced a few steps, then back. ‘Different like rugby is from American football.’
‘Sports analogies aren’t going to work for me, Rhys.’
With a long exhale, he seemed to collect himself, centre his thoughts on me and the here and now. ‘They’re both about running a ball through to a goal, but the details are different.’
‘Like Russian and French schools of ballet.’ Alike enough that if you were a novice, you couldn’t tell the difference. Football was football, magic was magic. ‘But how do you know about this at all?’ We were standing close so we could whisper, and at my question, I felt his tension step up, even above the stress already vibrating between us. ‘Rhys?’
‘In Pembrokeshire,’ he answered shortly. In the tree-filtered moonlight, it was hard to see his expression. ‘You said Dad told you about the mine collapse.’
A new wave of shock rushed over me. ‘That was caused by magic?’
‘Indirectly.’ His tone was taut with reluctance, as well as an obvious tight grip on a whole backlog of emotions. ‘But that’s how I recognized the signs, in the history and the … the atmosphere here. What Shawn is doing, it messes with the balance of things.’
The air was warm and humid, but my insides were icy, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. ‘So even if Shawn and the council are doing good for the town, it might cause something bad to happen?’
He looked at me, still tense, his tone guarded, his shoulders braced. ‘Do you think Shawn is doing right?’
Some part of me still wanted to think that Shawn’s intentions were good. But put to the question, I had to say, ‘No.’
From what I’d overheard, there was room for selfish requests, though Shawn clearly held the reins tight, with Addie his second in command. But even if everyone asked for things with no downside, what if something bad had to happen to bring it about? Something like – an awful realization curdled in my stomach – a surveyor falling in the river.
‘Oh my God.’ I looked at Rhys, who waited, expectantly, warily, for me to work things out. The bruises on his face had almost healed, but I could see them vividly in my mind’s eye. What if it was magically expedient to have Rhys out of the way too?
‘And you thought I could be involved with this?’ My voice rose indignantly, and I wrestled it back down to a whisper.
Rhys leaned forward, matching my challenging – but quiet – tone. ‘What was I supposed to think, with Shawn awaiting your arrival like you were his ordained priestess. That’s why Addie hates you so much. You were meant to take her place.’
‘I didn’t know any of this,’ I protested.
‘Which I realized,’ he said, in that too-patient way that betrayed his impatience. ‘Except that you were so obviously hiding something.’
I stiffened, amazed there was any room in my tangled emotions for hurt or offence. ‘I thought I was losing my mind, with all the things going on here. Like you, being all secretive—’
Rhys caught my arm and I broke off wi
th a startled gasp. ‘Let me finish, Sylvie.’ He stepped close, where he could speak in an unvoiced whisper. ‘You started working in the garden, and I saw the way it thrived and how you were flourishing too, and it seemed impossible that you could not know who you were and what you could do.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Frustration and fear tumbled together in my head. I was so confused, and his words were sprouting buried insights – the way I could soothe my anger with my hands in the earth, weed by touch, bring the garden back to life.
Rhys watched the play of realization on my face, and when I met his gaze, he asked gently, ‘Sylvie, have you even noticed you’re not limping any more?’
My mouth opened to speak, but there were no words.
His hand still grasped my arm, but lightly, and his thumb stroked the inside of my wrist in a way that perhaps he meant to be soothing, but which, with his words, sent shudders of reaction to the heart of me. ‘There is magic here. Shawn is using it through his circle of friends. You’re doing it through the garden. When I saw that happening, I knew you were the one that Shawn thought you were. Are.’
‘So you thought I was planning to hook up with him and rule this little corner of the world with our Davis-Maddox superpowers?’ We were standing very close, and my whispered indignation didn’t have far to carry.
He didn’t apologize. ‘Wouldn’t you do anything to dance again?’
His words punched me in the stomach, drove the breath out of me. Because they were true. Rhys mercifully went on, not making me acknowledge it aloud. ‘In any case, the night at the river convinced me you were naïvely going on instinct.’
I looked up at him with a challenge. ‘That’s why you suddenly liked me after I proved my innocence by nearly plummeting to my death.’
His expression turned rueful, almost sheepish. ‘I liked you before, but I didn’t want to.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘You let me think it was just me.’ And I meant everything. The liking. The feeling of connection, of familiarity.
‘I was an idiot,’ he said, brushing back my tangled hair.