Darklands Book 2: Something Wild This Way Comes Page 8

  She smiled at Rowan. “I was going to call you to cancel,” she said. “I feel like a bit of a fraud coming here. After Elizabeth's fever broke, she slept all night and woke right as rain the next morning. She's been her usual bouncy self ever since."

  "That's great,” said Rowan. She pushed her heavy braid of red hair off her shoulder and lifted direct gray-blue eyes to Camille. “But I have to be honest and tell you that Elizabeth's not the reason I asked you here today."

  Camille frowned, confused. “I don't understand. I thought you wanted to check her out, just to be sure."

  "Babies are pretty good at letting us know when something's wrong.” Rowan got up from her chair and walked over to the window, stroking her belly as though to calm herself as much as the precious cargo inside. “You don't need to worry about her."

  Camille could feel the dread growing inside her. She took a deep breath. “So, what it is it you want to discuss."

  Rowan turned around and pinned her with that direct gaze. Camille couldn't look away. “I want to talk about you, and why you're at World's End."

  Stiffening with shock, she stared at Rowan. Did this woman know something? Had she let something slip? In a panic, she stood up, overturning her chair as she hitched the baby high on her shoulder. “There's nothing to talk about—"

  "Wait! Please ... this is difficult. I don't know how to...."

  Camille opened the door. “I have to get home. I ... I ... the baby...."

  "You were kind to me when you came here on holiday as a child,” said Rowan. “I don't know if you remember. It must be seventeen, eighteen years ago. Most of the other children ignored me or laughed at me behind their back, but you always smiled and said hello."

  At those words, Camille remembered how Verity and the other kids had taunted the strange little girl for her freckles, her worn clothes, her odd mother. Dropping her hand from the door, she faced Rowan. “I had wondered,” she said slowly. “I remembered a girl with red hair, and when I saw you...."

  "It was me.” Rowan smiled sadly. “I always hoped that we'd be able to be friends, but you were usually only around for a week or two and I never got up the courage to say much to you."

  With a stab of guilt, Camille wished she'd followed her instincts and befriended Rowan back then. “So, you must have grown up in this house?” she asked. “It's fabulous."

  "I was born here.” Rowan raised a hand. “It's been in the family for centuries.” She hesitated for a second. “Did you know that you and I are distantly related? Cousins hundreds of times removed or something."

  Sinking weakly back into the chair, Camille studied Rowan, searching in vain for some resemblance. “I didn't know. My grandmother...."

  "She knew, but she respected your parents’ wishes. They didn't want you or your sister to know."

  Frowning, Camille tried to digest the information. Whatever way she looked at it, it didn't make sense. “Why ever not?"

  Rowan sighed. “Because the Byrnes were—are—different.” She gave Camille another of those razor-sharp glances, and that direct look tugged on something ... of course, the woman in the waiting room. Her gray eyes hadn't held Rowan's touch of blue, but the look was the same. It cut right through to what lay inside. She realized that Rowan was still speaking and put her speculation aside.

  "Look, I need to talk to you about this but there's a lot to explain. I have some lunch ready in the kitchen. Why don't we grab something to eat while we talk. If you have a bottle for Elizabeth, my aunt Abigail can feed her while we ... talk."

  "Your aunt?” Camille asked. “Was she the woman in the waiting room?"

  "Yes, that's Abigail. I asked her to be here, in case you didn't believe what I have to tell you."

  "I thought maybe she was your mother."

  "No, my mother died some years ago, but Abigail and I are pretty close. She runs the café in town.” Rowan came over and lifted Elizabeth from her arms. “Come on. I'll introduce you."

  The waiting room was empty when they opened the door, but the chairs had been stacked neatly and toys tucked tidily back in a vast wooden toy box.

  "Abigail's been busy,” Rowan observed. “I don't know what I'd do without her these days.” She led the way through to the kitchen where the big French doors had been flung open to let air circulate. “Abigail?” she called.

  "Yoo hoo,” said a cheerful voice, and the middle-aged woman bustled through from the patio. “I've just set up lunch out here as it's such as lovely day. There's fresh bread and chicken salad."

  "Abigail, this is Camille Aston,” said Rowan. “And this little poppet is Elizabeth."

  Abigail swung the child easily onto her hip, where Elizabeth regarded her solemnly before breaking out into a gummy grin.

  "Well, I think it's time for your lunch, don't you?” The woman chucked the baby under the chin, making her giggle.

  "Oh, I've got a bottle made for her. Here.” Camille pulled it from the bag and handed it to the woman.

  "You don't worry about a thing. We'll just be in here while you talk with Rowan,” the woman said gruffly.

  Camille smiled. The woman might have a stern exterior but Elizabeth had evidently taken to her immediately and that was good enough for Camille.

  Following Rowan, Camille found herself in a stone courtyard where an old wrought iron table held two place settings, a bowl of salad, a crusty loaf of bread and a bottle of mineral water. Rowan eased herself down, arching her back and slipping her shoes off her feet. “Oh,” she moaned. “That's better."

  While Rowan poured them each a glass of water, Camille studied the white-flecked ocean in the distance, wondering what conversation was about to unfold. Her pulse thundered and her mind raced. Did Rowan know something? And if she did, what would she want in return to remain silent? Money? This old house must cost a fortune to maintain. “You must love living here,” she said.

  Heaping salad on their plates, Rowan offered her a slice of warm bread. “Mmm. But it comes with a legacy, and ... responsibility. The Byrne women have special powers. All of them to a greater or lesser extent.” Those lake-gray eyes were piercing. “And that includes you."

  "But my grandmother's name was Jessop,” Camille said, wondering what Rowan meant by special powers.

  "You have Byrne blood, way back, and that means you have a gift of some sort."

  "What gift?” Camille shook her head, confused by the direction of this conversation. It wasn't what she'd been expecting. Nowhere near it. She put her fork down, wanting to give full attention to Rowan's answer.

  "My gift is one of healing.” Rowan took a forkful of salad and crunched into it.

  Camille sighed impatiently. “Well, obviously you're a healer. You care for mothers and babies."

  "Yes, but that's my profession, and I'm also a herbalist, by the way. But that's not what my gift is about."

  She took Camille's hand in hers. Camille gasped as she again felt that slow steady tide of warmth run from Rowan's hand into hers. Immediately, she felt different, stronger, as though she could conquer the world.

  "You felt it before,” said Rowan equably as Camille tugged her hand away as though stung. “The day we bumped into each other in town. Most people don't notice it like you do, they just feel better for no reason. Or if they're sick they begin to heal. But you feel it like a surge of energy ... and I feel you."

  "But.... “Camille was bewildered. “I don't understand. I can't heal anyone!"

  "No, probably not. We have different gifts, and different degrees of it. Abigail senses auras, but her powers aren't well developed.” She smiled at Camille. “So, what's yours?"

  Camille shook her head again. “There's nothing ... I don't.... “An image struck her of her sister's body hurtling through the air. Then that strange certainty that Nathan Donnelly had been at her house. Countless other episodes since she was a child.

  "Oh God!"

  Chapter Six

  Camille bit her lip and lifted searching hazel eyes to meet Ro
wan's. “Sometimes I see things ... but that's just intuition, isn't it?"

  "Is it?” Rowan smiled and shrugged. “Probably, or a more powerful form of it. Intuition's a gift, but from what you've just said, I'd say you're clairvoyant.” She learned forward over the table, her eyes drilling Camille's. “Describe a recent episode."

  Camille thought of her sister's body diving to its death, and paled. She didn't want to go there. Didn't want to hear any more about what this woman had to say. She pushed away from the table and stood up abruptly. “I have to go.” She reached for her bag, which she'd slung around the back of her chair. “I want my child. Where is she?” She brushed past Rowan and in through the door to the kitchen, where Abigail rocked the little girl.

  "Camille.” Rowan's voice came from behind her, firm yet with a tone that said she understood. “I'm sorry. I know this must sound strange to you."

  Scooping up Elizabeth, Camille held her so tightly the baby let out a sleepy cry. She turned to face Rowan. “Look, I'm not interested in special gifts or powers ... I've got a baby and...."

  "You're in danger.” Rowan's voice was stark, her gaze unflinching. “That's why you're here."

  Schooling her features to give nothing away even though she felt sure Rowan could hear the thud of her pulse in her veins it was so loud, Camille curved a hand protectively over the baby's head. “What do you want?"

  "Would you believe me if I said I wanted to help?"

  Looking at her in disbelief, Camille gave a sharp laugh. “Why would you want to help me? You don't know me."

  "Yes, yes, in a way I do,” Rowan said softly. She sighed. “Give me another ten minutes to explain. Listen to me without judging until I've finished and then if you want nothing more to do with me, then you're free to go."

  Camille hesitated, her head telling her to flee this house while her gut instinct told her she could trust this woman. Her gut won, but only just. She nodded. “All right."

  Abigail silently reached out for the baby and Camille followed Rowan back out to the terrace. Rowan leaned against the wall, looking out at World's End below, and beyond it to the vast expanse of ocean and sky.

  "Tell me about this intuition of yours,” Rowan said. “Tell me about the last time you saw something."

  Camille thought back to yesterday. “It was last night. I had an overwhelming feeling that someone had been at the house during the day, while Elizabeth and I were out.” She didn't want to mention the pebble on the gate, didn't want to have to explain why it was there in the first place. “But I mean, that's normal. Everyone gets moments like that, or a feeling of déjà vu, from time to time, don't they?"

  "And who did you think had been at the house?” Rowan asked.

  Camille looked away before answering. “Nathan Donnelly. He's the policeman...."

  "I know Nathan.” Rowan nodded and to Camille it appeared as though it made perfect sense to the woman, which it made it all the more frustrating for Camille, who didn't understand any of it.

  "But why ... why him? Why would I see him at the cottage? I mean apart from the fact that he has a habit of just turning up without an invitation,” she added under her breath.

  Rowan evidently heard and gave a soft laugh. “Does he? That's interesting.” She frowned as if thinking. “So it's stronger than just a feeling when you get these episodes, isn't it? You see something as well?"

  Camille stopped the image of her sister spiralling to the ground by sheer force of will. She nodded shakily. “Yes, it's almost like fragments of an old black and white movie, a bit faded and indistinct. But Detective Donnelly's hand was on my front gate, pushing it open. I knew it was him, even though I didn't see his face until he knocked on the door and peered in the front window.” She bit her lip.

  "And when you have these visions, is it always people you know?"

  Camille frowned. Until now she'd only ever considered the moments of intuition as isolated events. She'd never paused to consider any connections or common features because until now they'd always happened months or sometimes years apart. Her parents’ death, an old friend's engagement, her grandmother's fall, a few other occasions. All people she knew and loved, apart from Nathan Donnelly.

  She raised confused eyes to Rowan's steady ones. “Yes, all people I was very close to. Except for Nathan Donnelly, of course. I don't know why...."

  "It sounds like you might have clairvoyant talents,” Rowan interrupted. “You're able to tune in to other people's emotional frequencies at certain times.” She studied Camille's face, something like admiration on her face. “Maybe at times of emotional overload, such as extreme terror, joy or frustration. Does that fit?"

  "Maybe. Yes. At all those times when I've had a ... vision.... “Camille stumbled over the word. It made her sound like such a freak! “Every time, the person was going through a very happy or horrible experience. Except for Nathan Donnelly. One, I don't know him, and two, why would he be knocking on my door in an emotional state? It doesn't make sense."

  "Oh, I don't know. I think Nathan may be a little frustrated right now.” Rowan said casually, with a hint of laughter in her voice that made Camille want to ask what the joke was, but before she could frame the question, Rowan was continuing. “The thing is, you are special. You have a gift. You're part of the magic of World's End."

  "The magic?” Camille put Nathan Donnelly's emotions to one side.

  "We're sisters in magic, you and I,” Rowan said slowly, her voice almost humming with the intensity of her conviction. “Women in a line of women who've fought the dark side down through the ages. Once every century, the dark lord comes to wage war on World's End. Twice he has been banished but not entirely defeated. He has always returned the following century."

  Camille started to protest but Rowan shook her head. “Listen,” she said. “You are part of this. I ... I fought with the dark one last year, but he warned me even as I defeated him that he was not working alone. He said others would follow, and I thought he meant in the next century and the one after that, but then you arrived and ... I believe this time will perhaps be different. Maybe with strength of numbers we have the chance to put him to rest forever."

  Camille watched as she stroked her pregnant belly with long-fingered, graceful movements. It was preposterous she knew, but somehow she believed that this woman, at the very least, considered what she was telling Camille to be true.

  "You're finding it hard to believe what I'm saying,” said Rowan. “It's okay. It sounds so.... “she waved a hand, “...out there. And it is. Max is still coming to grips with it, believe me. Your coming here is part of the grand plan. I don't know exactly why. I've only been speculating. But what I am sure of is that fate has put you here in this place and at this time for a reason. I told you you're in danger, because you are. The dark one will seek to destroy any who oppose him.” She shrugged, and her mouth moved in a grim smile that quickly faded. “I guess it's pretty understandable, seeing as how we would destroy him if we could."

  Camille couldn't help but laugh. It was ridiculous. “Believe me, I'm not here because of supernatural forces. Maybe unnatural ones. I'm here because my brother-in-law—” She came to an abrupt halt as she realized how close she'd come to letting the cat out of the bag.

  "Your brother-in-law what?” Rowan's voice was tranquil, as though they were discussing a beautiful landscape.

  "Nothing. My sister died and I needed a holiday. That's all."

  "I'm sorry.” Rowan paused. “And your sister's death was unnatural?"

  "She fell from a balcony.” Camille's heard her voice emerge stiffly from her throat.

  "And your brother-in-law?"

  "Nothing. We just don't get on."

  "And your husband?"

  "I'm not.... “She spun angrily to face Rowan. “What is this? Twenty questions?"

  "Well,” Rowan said equably, sounding not in the least offended. “Tell me what happened and I won't have to probe."

  "I can't,” Camille whispered. She
felt the horror of Verity's death rising to block her throat. She wanted to tell Rowan. She wanted the ease of removing the burden from her shoulders. Her eyes glanced toward the kitchen where she could hear Abigail crooning to Elizabeth. “I'm sorry. I know you mean well, but whatever's going on here ... I can't get involved. I have problems of my own."

  Rowan looked at her for a long time. “I understand it's confusing and scary, but you needed to know the truth from the outset. Just think about what I've said and if you need to talk, then just give me a call. Or drop by."

  Nodding, Camille went to get Elizabeth who smiled sleepily at her when she took her from Abigail. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I hope...."

  "She's been fine,” the older woman said kindly. “An angel."

  Managing a smile, Camille hurried toward the front door. She heard Rowan's heels clicking on the marble of the foyer behind her, and turned to say goodbye. Rowan had a small book in her hands and slipped it into the top of Camille's bag. “For you to read when you have a moment. It might help make sense of things.” She smiled but it was strained.

  Nodding, Camille turned and left. She strapped the sleeping baby in tightly, aware that Rowan stood on the step of Ravenswood House watching her as she drove down the long drive and between the stone pillars of the gateway.

  Her mind was in a whirl. Everything Rowan had said seemed outrageous. Talk of paranormal gifts, magic, a dark foe. It was the stuff of myth, of fairytale. But she had made it all sound so real and immediate. Camille shook her head, as if to clear it of fanciful thoughts. She liked Rowan, but the woman had to be stark-staring mad, surely. She glanced in her rear view mirror at the retreating tower and widow's walk of Ravenswood House. Perhaps believing in magic made perfect sense when you'd grown up in a fairytale house like that.

  The narrow winding road down the cliff demanded all Camille's concentration as she drove toward home. The lunch break was over and World's End had hit that warm, early afternoon lull. Only a few holidaymakers were out and about, the townsfolk themselves were back inside their shops and offices. Rowan wanted to hustle home where she felt safe. Elizabeth needed to go down for her nap in her cot or she'd be grouchy as hell later. But, most of all, Rowan's words had unsettled her. She needed to think about what she'd been told, rationalize it if she could and put it away. She wanted to bolt all the doors and keep unhappy memories and thoughts of evil forces out for the next few hours.