1

OPERATION BELLADONNA

by Jennifer May Woodhouse, B.A. Hons., Dip. Ed.

The following novel is hereby submitted as a thesis in accordance with the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts (research) in the School of Creative Industries, Queensland University of Technology.

Brisbane March, 2003

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DISCLAIMER

The work contained in this thesis has not been previously submitted for a degree or diploma at any other higher education institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the thesis contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made.

Signed: ______Date: ______

3

I

What on earth was she doing here anyway? Cassie scowled at the rain falling steadily outside the draughty bus shelter. It was dark and cold, and she was the only passenger who’d got off at Penzance. Where was her landlady, that mythical friend of a friend of a friend of her mother’s (her mum was a born networker), who was supposed to meet her here? Why had she travelled from the other side of the world, against her better judgement, to freeze her butt off in what looked like a real dump? It was turning out to be a long story – not to mention an even longer flight, and an interminable bus ride through the sodden English countryside. No wonder her ancestors had left for Australia! This place was the pits! And as for the long story, she was beginning to suspect she didn’t know the half of it.

“Oh, hello, you must be Cassandra,” said a melodious voice at her side. “Welcome to Penzance! I’m afraid the weather is running true to type for this time of year, but there’s a fine spell forecast for the weekend.”

Cassandra managed to mumble something before her landlady rattled on cheerfully. “I expect you like walking, most Australians do, don’t they? Outdoor types, and all that… But let’s get you home and into something dry and warm, you look as if you could do with a hot drink!”

They squeezed into a stuffy little car with its windows all fogged up, and after a short, disorienting ride pulled up on what appeared to be the side of a hill. You couldn’t actually tell, because there was so much fog around, but the wail of a foghorn seemed to be coming from somewhere below. Gwen, the cheerful landlady, bundled Cassie in through a gate and a cottage door, to a scene of light and cosiness. By the time Cassie emerged from her downstairs room, Gwen had a fire going in the living-room hearth, and hot buttered toast and cocoa on a tray. 4

As they basked in the glow of the fire, Gwen asked Cassie what had brought her to Cornwall, alone and at the bleakest time of year. “Well,” said Cassie, with a little embarrassed laugh, “it’s a long story, but I don’t know the first thing about this place, so I’m going to need your help. For me, it all began with my great-aunt Belladonna…”

II

“Cassandra, there is something you must promise me,” Belladonna had rasped in a half-whisper to twelve-year-old Cassie.

Cassie had not known how to reply. They’d told her Belladonna was dying, this time for real. There’d been many false alarms, but now that she was ninety-five, you could hardly expect another reprieve. So Cassie hadn’t wanted to refuse, although she wondered if it would be within her power to do whatever the eccentric old woman was about to request.

She remembered how Belladonna had reached out a hand – a scrawny, ancient-looking hand with strange rings on the fingers – and clutched at her neck to draw her face closer.

“Promise me you will do it!”

“Do what?” Cassie croaked in a voice gone hoarse with alarm.

Everyone in the family knew about the curse laid on Belladonna. It would be something to do with that for sure. And who wanted to get mixed up in that sort of stuff? Not Cassie.

5

“Promise me you will go there. You will go to St Levan and then you will seek out the Merry Maidens… You will go at dawn to Madgy Figgy’s Chair…”

The old voice rose and Belladonna’s eyes grew strangely bright. She was definitely raving, Cassie thought.

“You mean, you want me to go to Cornwall, Aunt?”

There was the ghost of a nod from the head on the pillow.

“Go… for my soul's repose… to St Levan… the Merry Maidens… and Madgy's Chair…” This was getting really spooky. Now Belladonna’s eyes were closing. Suddenly they opened again. “Repeat,” the voice intoned sternly, no longer a whisper. Cassie obeyed. “Good girl,” said the voice, tapering off into silence. This time, the eyes stayed closed. Cassie tiptoed from the room, her face preoccupied and pale.

In fact, Belladonna had never awakened. “Died peacefully in her sleep,” the family had noted with some satisfaction. “And sharp as a tack to the last.” It was just that her heart had finally given out.

But Cassie wasn’t so sure that her great-aunt's wits had been intact. Who in their right mind would make such a request of a twelve-year-old girl? Nevertheless, she wrote down Belladonna's instructions in her diary so as not to forget them, in case one day she had the chance to find out what they meant.

Now five years had elapsed since Belladonna’s death. Cassie was seventeen, and about to finish high school. Exams were over. She thought she’d done well, although she didn’t know yet if she’d made it into the journalism school. She’d chosen journalism in the hope that it would one day coincide with her 6 many other interests. Cassie loved the arts, especially the theatre and literature, but also visual art. She didn’t think she had any special talent for anything, just loads of appreciation.

But then something happened that threw her into confusion, just as she thought her life was running according to some kind of plan.

One Saturday afternoon, Cassie’s mother, Belladonna’s youngest sister’s grandchild, had reminded her of that spooky scene before Belladonna died.

“There's something I need to talk to you about, concerning your great-aunt,” Julia Miles had begun, her voice sounding uncharacteristically tentative. "You haven't forgotten Belladonna, have you?"

“How could I forget?” said Cassie brightly.

“Well, I really don’t know how to tell you this,” her mother said quietly, “but she left you a legacy – five thousand pounds, that’s more than fifteen thousand dollars – on condition that you use some of it to go to Cornwall before the new millennium begins. That's less than three months away, as you know. There is something she wants you to do for her there. Do you know anything about that?”

Cassie, who had been lounging in front of MTV, sat up straight and pressed the remote control to deaden the sound.

“What did you say?”

“There’s something Belladonna wants you to do for her in Cornwall. Otherwise, according to the trustees of her estate, she feared that the curse might be perpetuated for another hundred years.” 7

“I remember there was a curse, but nobody actually told me what it was…?”

“Belladonna’s mother was supposed to have been a witch.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Well, you know I don’t believe in such things. Look at Belladonna, fit as a fiddle to the last. Not my idea of a woman under a curse.”

“So?”

“So the story goes that her mother used her powers to lure a young man away from another witch, the most powerful and feared in all the West Country.”

“Do you believe that?”

“It makes a good story.”

“But what’s this got to do with me?” said Cassie peevishly.

“Well, the witch whose young man was lured away went on the warpath, apparently. She put a curse on Belladonna’s mother.”

“You mean she did some spells and things? Come on, Mum, this is the end of the twentieth century. That stuff went down in the Middle Ages.”

“Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“OK, come on, tell me the rest. But this is just so unreal…”

8

“The curse was supposed to affect those most dearly loved by the afflicted one, and to be handed down to further generations for a hundred years. It would strike down the person closest to the one who inherited it, and then pass to the most loved of the living.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Belladonna’s mother lost the man she 'stole' from Molly.”

“Who?”

“The other witch’s name was Molly, who claimed to possess powers entrusted to her by the dreaded Madgy Figgy.”

Cassie wondered where she’d heard that name before, but never mind.

“How did Belladonna's mother lose the stolen man?” she asked, at the same time struck by what seemed the absurdity of it all.

“Well, Belladonna's parents got married, and Belladonna was their first-born. When she was twelve years old, her family migrated here, to Australia. The tin mines were closing down in Cornwall, and what with Molly the witch throwing her weight around, it all seemed for the best. But soon after they arrived, Belladonna's father was killed when the mine where he worked caved in. He was the only casualty, though I’d put it down to coincidence. You could never really be safe in the mines.”

“But why does she want me to go to Cornwall? It must be at least a hundred years since all that happened.”

9

“Well, apparently that’s part of it. Belladonna believed that if the curse wasn’t broken after a hundred years, it could go into another cycle. She was afraid for you, too, because after her own husband was killed - another freak accident - you were the dearest person in the world to her. Apparently she couldn’t have children of her own. Nobody ever knew why, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her, but she was convinced it was something to do with Molly’s curse.”

“This has got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know it sounds far-fetched, but I had to tell you, didn’t I? I mean, because of the legacy. You don’t have to go to Cornwall, of course, it’s up to you. I honestly don’t believe there’s anything there to be frightened of, and you always said you wanted to go one day, so this would give you the chance.”

“Would you come with me? Or could I at least take a friend?”

“No. That’s part of the deal. You’d have to go alone. But of course we could book some kind of package. Or arrange for you to stay at a farm, like your father and I did on our honeymoon. Cornwall’s so lovely! Of course I’d be worried about you a bit, but we could plan it all carefully before you left.”

“What about uni?”

“You’d have two months before you’d have to be back to enrol.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Cassie. “But why does it have to be so complicated? Maybe Belladonna was losing it, freaking out because she was old.”

“Well, it needn’t be all that complicated. And it would make a nice break before you start uni. But it’s up to you, Cassie. If you’d rather not go, don’t. 10

I’ll understand. You can go when you’re older. In that case, the money will be donated to charity, so someone will benefit.”

“How long have I got to decide?”

“About a week, then we’d have to inquire about bookings. It’s out of season, so it shouldn’t be hard to get tickets and places to stay.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s winter there now.”

“Are you telling me I’d be giving up summer for what? English drizzle?”

“Actually, it does more than drizzle at this time of year.”

“Can't we just forget it?” said Cassie, turning up the volume on the TV. Who needs Cornwall in winter, she thought. Belladonna had seemed harmless enough, a shrunken, faded wisp of a woman, so who would have thought she’d suggest such a crazy plan? It didn’t remotely sound like fun, and she’d miss out on her last summer with all her Year 12 friends. Who knew when she’d see some of them again? They’d be moving on, and so would she, once the summer was over.

III

That night was the scariest since Belladonna had died. It started normally enough. Cassie had gone with some friends to the movies, but at the Internet café afterwards she’d quarrelled with her best friend, Sophie. About a boy, of all the stupid things. Sophie had started it by teasing her about Tim Riley. Well, Tim Riley was okay, but Cassie didn’t fancy him. Sophie did, though, so 11 she probably just wanted to know if there was any competition. Bitch! Of course, they were best friends, but Sophie could be so uncool! So the first weekend after exams didn’t augur well for the summer. If all Sophie had on her mind was how to attract Tim Riley’s attention, Cassie could be in for a boring holiday.

But the scary bit was after she went to sleep. Belladonna had just appeared, right there in Cassie’s room. First she heard the walking stick approaching, then the door softly opening. By this time, she knew she wasn’t dreaming it. She could hear herself breathing, but something had happened to her voice. She was too paralysed to speak. Belladonna had no such inhibitions, it seemed.

“Cassandra, are you paying attention?”

No words came from Cassie’s throat, but Belladonna apparently took silence for assent.

“You promised me, Cassandra, remember? A broken promise is worse than a lie. It is the worst betrayal… You must go, my dear, or else it will go on, you will be next. Don’t be afraid… St Levan holds the key. The Merry Maidens will help to unlock it. The third place you must be is Madgy Figgy’s chair, at dawn…”

At that moment, the door burst open. Cassie’s mother bustled in. “Is anything the matter? I thought I heard you calling out.”

“I just had the weirdest dream,” said Cassie. “Tell you in the morning.”

12

IV

So here she was in Penzance, with the rain pissing down outside, trying to enlist Gwen’s help without giving her the impression on the first night that she was offering Bed and Breakfast to a basket case. And now that she was actually here, the whole idea of witches and curses and carrying out Belladonna’s dying wish seemed more unreal than ever. “My great-aunt left me a legacy, to come and see where my ancestors used to live.” She had also left a letter in an envelope sealed with old-fashioned sealing wax, to be given to Cassandra in the event she accepted the legacy. Not to be opened, however, until she arrived in Cornwall. It was in the wallet with Cassie’s travel documents. She would open it, she decided, when she’d recovered from her exhausting journey. With six weeks ahead of her, there seemed no desperate hurry. And then there was the strange casket that had been entrusted to her, with the assurance that all she needed to know was in the letter…

“Penzance people, were they?”

“Er, who?”

“Your Cornish ancestors, dear.”

“Not exactly. Porthcurno, St Levan, and around Land’s End, my mother said. I don’t remember all the names, but I have to go to St Levan. There’s a famous well there, my great-aunt said.”

“That’s so, my pet, but look at you! Your eyelids are getting heavier by the second! It’s time you were off to bed, and we can talk some more in the morning.”

13

The last sound Cassie heard before drifting into a dreamless sleep was the siren hooting through the fog like a strange nocturnal bird. The first sound she heard as she surfaced into consciousness was the cry of gulls outside the crimson curtains. Recollecting where she was, she rushed to the window and dragged back the drapes. Astonishment and visual pleasure stopped her in her tracks. Before her lay an enormous bay, bathed in soft blue, angelic light. The sky was almost clear, with only distant banks of pearly cloud. In the bay was a rocky outcrop, some kind of island with a turreted building on its summit, outlined against the luminous sky. Seagulls were wheeling past outside. They were large birds, with blood-red spots on their lower beaks.

“Herring gulls,” said Gwen in the doorway behind her. “Ready for some breakfast, dear? I expect you’re famished.”

“And are both sides of your family from Cornwall then?” Gwen asked over the breakfast table.

“No,” mumbled Cassie through a mouthful of muffin. “Only my Mum’s.”

“Any brothers and sisters, dear?”

“Half of each… I mean, a stepbrother and a stepsister, lots older than me. My Mum’s first husband was killed…”

“How unfortunate for her…”

But hey, wait a minute, thought Cassie. That made one more! She’d never thought of it before, it was not as if she’d known him, he was just a name to her. But all those husbands meeting untimely deaths. Was it really coincidence?

14

“I beg your pardon?” she said. She had been so struck by the unexpected connection she had just made that she hadn’t heard Gwen’s next question.

“And what does your father do?”

“He’s an officer in the navy. He’s often away, and he can't communicate with us as much as we'd like, for security reasons. I’m very close to my Mum, though.”

“Well dear, might I suggest we don’t waste this good weather? Is there somewhere you’d like to go, or will you come into Penzance with me, to get your bearings? We can go to the tourist information office and the bus station, and get you some timetables. Then you’ll be able to get around on your own a bit, if you’re interested. We could walk in along the esplanade, I don’t think it’s going to rain.”

Cassie was enchanted by the view from Gwen’s front gate.

“What’s that place across the bay?” she asked. “Is it an island?”

“Oh, you mean St Michael’s Mount. It’s an island at high tide, but at low tide you can walk across on the causeway, if you’re quick. Those buildings you can see used to be an abbey.”

They set off down the hill. Gwen’s house was at Newlyn, and Cassie could see the port below, with little snub-nosed fishing-smacks poised on their own reflections. The light welling up from the bay was making her feel buoyant too.

15

V

The bus to Land’s End followed a narrow, winding road between hedges. From her front seat on the upper deck (it was just like the London double- deckers she’d seen pictures of) she had a clear view. Across green and brown rectangles of fields, seamed by hedges and old stone walls, lay houses and church spires huddled together in hamlets. When the bus passed through villages she could see gold and moss green and rust-coloured lichen on some of the grey stone walls and slate roofs, enhancing the impression of age. It was a mild day, and black and white cows were feeding from hayracks in some of the fields. There were few trees, but here and there a solitary, jagged tooth of lichen-covered rock protruded from a field.

There weren't many passengers on the bus: a pair of young Japanese tourists, a girl consulting a guide-book in German, with a big folder of what looked like sketching materials on the seat beside her, a couple of local women who got on or off at farms along the way, and a youngish man with a brooding look about him and tousled, unwashed hair. It was not many miles from Penzance to Land’s End, but the bus moved slowly through the country lanes, deviating several times to stop in villages.

St Buryan, said the sign outside one of them. Cassie craned her neck to see the top of the square church tower. The churchyard was dense with grave markers. She recognised some Celtic crosses. Her mum had one of those crafted in silver on a chain, bought somewhere here in Cornwall twenty years before. She had already phoned home from Penzance, then realized it was way past bedtime from her mother’s blurry voice. “Nearly two a.m., in fact, Cassie, but never mind, it’s good to hear you… What, dear? Yes, of course, do go to Land’s End while the weather’s fine. And try to see Tintagel, as I told you, and Zennor, and Sennen… Just see as much as you can. Cornwall is 16 magical... No, darling, I meant in a good way. You’re going to love it! … Now just take care! I’ll phone you at Gwen’s. Bye pet.”

A sign beside the road said they were passing the last inn in England before Land’s End, but then the bus swung off to the right and started plunging down towards a cove. Cassie drew a sharp breath. What was this beautiful place?

“Sennen Cove,” called the bus driver.

A perfect sickle of pale sand, edged with a dark border along the high-tide line, stretched away below to a rust-coloured headland in the distance, with a few white buildings perched along the skyline. Steep dunes, separated by deep crevices, loped away downhill beside the road, and at the base of a rocky ridge on the other side lay several rows of whitewashed buildings – cottages, cafes, a hotel, picturesque facades advertising Bed and Breakfast, some little craft shops, all sliding past the windows as the bus drew to a halt.

Cassie almost fell down the narrow gangway. “When does the next bus come through, to Land’s End?” she asked the driver. “Not for another two hours, Miss. But it’s an hour’s walk from here, along t' cliffs,” he said. “There’s a path, then?” said Cassie, “To be sure there’s a path,” he said agreeably. “Up over yonder hill, and you can’t go wrong, young lady.”

Cassie first ran down to the firm, clean sand. Gulls and other seabirds were almost the sole signs of life, except for a man walking his dog, a couple of little children with their granny, all rugged up against the brisk sea breeze, and… surely not! Three surfers bobbing on the emerald swell not far from the shore. They were covered in black wetsuits, but those were definitely surfboards! This place was full of unexpected sights! Cassie gambolled along the sand, rather like the man’s dog. The dark stuff she had seen from the bus- 17 stop was seaweed, but not like Australian seaweed. There were broad ribbons and leathery straps of it, and other bits that looked like walking-sticks with knobs on them. A momentary vision of Belladonna sprang to mind, but Cassie resolutely dismissed it. She was nowhere near ready to do Belladonna’s bidding just yet. She had to at least get the feel of the place first, get her bearings. She’d feel ridiculous, rushing into a churchyard or whatever Belladonna had in mind on her first night here, and anyway, she had no idea how she was going to get where she had to go from Penzance. She could see there was some homework to be done – “Research, Cassie,” she could hear Miss Owles, her history teacher, say – before she could put her plan into action.

Seeing her examining the licorice-straps of seaweed, the man with his dog, on his way back along the beach, paused to ask gruffly, “Lost something, Miss?” “Oh, no, it’s just that I’ve never seen seaweed like this…”

“Kelp,” barked the man.

She thought he was calling his dog, but then he repeated. “That be Atlantic kelp, Missy.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you…” she said, feeling rather foolish.

He nodded and went on his way.

Cassie wasn’t sure how long the daylight lasted here in winter. It was only a little after midday, in fact, but she thought she’d better be making tracks for Land’s End. The last bus would return from there at five-thirty, according to the timetable. But right now she was starving, positively faint with hunger, so she hoped she’d find a café open somewhere in the tiny port.

18

She was in luck. As she approached the ramp up from the beach she caught a whiff of fish and chips. Of course, this was Saturday, so you’d expect to find someplace open at the weekend, even in winter. Following her nose, she entered a small cafe with steamed-up windows, ordered a serve of cod and chips, and sat down. “Mushy peas?” called the woman behind the counter. “I beg your pardon?” Cassie said.

“Do you want mushy peas, dearie?”

“Oh, alright, yes…” said Cassie, confused at how things could seem at one moment familiar – that is, everybody spoke English, you could buy fish and chips – and in the next moment you were reminded that it was never quite the same.

“That’ll be an extra 20p,” the woman was saying.

Cassie went back to the counter, extracting the requisite coin from her purse.

“Your first visit to Sennen, love?” the woman asked in a voice that seemed set for a chat.

“Yes,” said Cassie. “In fact, I know nothing about this place. I just got off the bus here because it looked so lovely. I was actually on my way to Land’s End…”

“Oh, there was lots of history here at one time, pet. See, Sennen was where the last battle against the Danes was fought. That was way, way back in the olden days … Then there were the pirate raids, a goodly bit of smuggling and such. Now there’s just the tourists, and we see lots of those, as you can imagine. But you’ll not find a prettier place, in my opinion.”

19

“It’s not just pretty,” said Cassie, speaking her thoughts aloud. “It’s… romantic, don’t you think?”

“Oh, indeed, so they often say,” agreed the woman. “Now my lovely, here’s your fish and chips.”

Cassie had already noticed how often people used endearments here in Cornwall. It was the same with her mum and gran, they always used words like “love” and “pet”. It must be a Cornish thing, she decided.

Thanking the woman for the meal, she bought a bottle of water and set off up the slope behind the rows of houses to where she could see a signpost on the summit. Suddenly she wished Sophie were here to walk with her. What was she doing, setting out alone to walk the clifftop path to Land’s End? Anyway, she was about to find out. The bus would probably have been safer, but she preferred the heightened sense of adventure it gave her to do it this way.

Cornwall was going to her head, and she was ready for a bit of real… excitement. No, not danger. Just excitement. This was a whole new world and she wanted to experience all of it. It was even part of her heritage, but she’d never had any idea how much there was here, waiting to be discovered. Now she could sense all kinds of possibilities. It was making her dizzy. Maybe she should avoid the cliffs. This out-of-it feeling must be jet-lag. One finger of the signpost read “Land’s End 2 miles.” Cassie took a few mouthfuls of water, turned up her jacket collar against the stiffish breeze, looked back for a minute at Sennen arcing away below, then set off over the headland, along the Atlantic coast.

20

VI

The sea was scaly and green as dragons, and the spray where it pounded the foot of the cliffs hung in the air like dragons’ breath. Cassie never thought in such terms in Australia, she really didn’t like it when people used flowery language, but she felt like a different person here. Perhaps she was falling under the spell of the place, she thought, trying to turn it into a joke, but somehow it didn’t seem so funny. Too close to the truth for that. It hadn't taken long, either. Only a few short hours, but time had a different meaning here as well. Clocks didn’t really count.

She could see a couple of walkers silhouetted against the sky far ahead, and a large lighthouse had come into view, a fair way offshore. It seemed to be perched on some kind of rock in the sea, she could just make out the white froth of waves at its base.

She’d been walking for about half an hour, gazing in awe at the rock formations projecting from the cliffs, when a cluster of buildings appeared on a distant headland. That must be Land’s End. Quickening her pace, she approached and gradually made out a number of buildings that differentiated themselves into tourist attractions of various kinds, and an inn. Well, what else could you expect? It was no different from other places that attracted a lot of visitors. Coca Cola, Cornish teas, sideshows, souvenirs… But when you went out on the headland and climbed down over the rocks at the tip, it was something else. The massive lighthouse stood on its rocky base opposite, still a fair distance away. It had a flat disc on top of it, like a hat brim. Seeing a helicopter flying towards it, she understood why. It must be thrilling, she thought, to be hidden away in the top of that tower in wild weather, warning ships of invisible dangers. Scary too. How would you get in and out if it was blowing a gale?

21

But lighthouse-keepers’ jobs had probably changed a lot, now that ships had radar. She’d have to ask her dad about that.

She sat on a rock and drank in the vista of ocean and cliffs and beacon until she began to feel cold, then climbed up to look for a café where she could get a cup of coffee.

While she was sipping her cappuccino, a voice cut across her thoughts. “Haven’t seen you in the craftsmen’s workshops yet. Why don’t you come and have a look at what we do?”

The young man occupying the next stool at the bench was addressing himself to her, she realised. “I…’m not sure what you mean,” she said. The jet-lag was really hitting her now.

“Finish your coffee and come with me. We have some workshops here, at Land’s End, just a stone’s throw away. I’m the silversmith. Jake’s my name.”

“I’m Cassie.”

“What’s that short for, if you don’t mind my asking?” He was looking at her attentively, as if trying to read her features. It made her uncomfortable.

“Cassandra,” she said rather sharply.

“And do you have the gift?”

“Gift?”

Nothing was making sense. She’d do better to take the next bus back to Penzance and catch up on sleep. 22

“The original Cassandra had the gift of second sight.”

“No,” she said, relieved to be back in the picture. “In fact, I’m probably the most un-psychic person you’re ever likely to meet.”

“That’s not what your face tells me, Cassandra. Mind if I have a look at your palm?”

This time she just looked at him blankly.

“Are you right-handed? Then let me see your left palm.”

Cassie’s face now registered suspicion.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a fast worker?”

“Ah come on Cassandra, this is just for fun. But look, I do read palms. My Celtic granny taught me to. And I don’t bite. Promise.”

“Let me see the work you do, and then I’ll think about it.”

There was something about Jake’s appearance that made her want to look at him more closely, really scrutinise him, as if this might help to place him in some kind of context. But in her increasingly muzzy state she couldn’t quite work out what the attraction was. He was what Sophie would call a bit of a hunk, but not Cassie’s type at all – dark eyes (really nice eyes, actually), dark auburn hair, sort of olive complexion, interesting, well-defined features, sensuous mouth (whoa there Cassie!), a small, thick silver hoop in one ear, strong forearms and hands. He was wearing a soft, hand-knitted grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. She thought he looked intelligent, 23 and he probably had a good sense of humour, too. It showed in little lines around his mouth and eyes.

“Here we are,” he said, as she followed him in through the door of a long, low building. It looked as if it had once been part of a farm’s outhouses.

A couple of other young men and a girl looked up from their benches at Jake’s approach.

“Who have we here?” said one of the men.

“This is Cassandra,” said Jake. “And these two ruffians are Michael and Toby, and this young lady is Annabel,” he added.

They greeted her and resumed their work, except for Toby, who held her gaze long enough to offer a slow, conspiratorial wink.

“I saw that,” said Jake in a mock-censorious tone. “You just watch your Ps an’ Qs, young Toby. No shenanigans.”

“Now, Queen Isabella, what would you like to see?”

“Why did you call me that?”

“No special reason, I just suddenly thought of her. The French princess who married Edward the Second. I’m a sucker for history, see. Besides, I bet you saw 'Braveheart'.”

“Oh, that Isabella. The one who…”

“Right.” 24

“Well, as a matter of fact you vaguely remind me of someone too - maybe an actor or singer - but I can’t quite work out who at the moment.”

“Thanks for nothing!”

“But I’ll tell you when I do. So this is where you work?”

VII

Cassie warmed to the atmosphere of the workshop, which struck her as cheerful and purposeful, and she sat awhile watching Jake at work. He made silver rings and charms with various motifs on them. “This one represents grass and sun,” he explained, “and this is grass and clouds. This other one is a traditional Celtic kind of ring, such as ladies may have worn in the time of Queen Boadicea. Here, try it on, it looks like your size… But what’s that one you’re wearing? That looks interesting. From here, is it?”

“Mm-hm. I suppose so. My great-aunt Belladonna left it to me when she died. She was from somewhere round these parts.”

“You don’t say! And you know, of course, that your great-aunt’s ring has a secret compartment under the stone, where small amounts of potent herbs or poison could be stored?”

“You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“No. Show me…”

Jake pressed the lower edge of the setting that held a large garnet. The stone swung back on a tiny hinge, revealing a cavity underneath. 25

“How strange. Perhaps it was used in witchcraft,” Cassie mused aloud.

“You’re not going to tell me your great-aunt was a witch! Come on, Cassandra. You can be more original than that!”

She blushed.

“As a matter of fact, her mother was the witch. Belladonna believed she was cursed. And I for one would rather she’d never mentioned it.”

“Of course you know there’s a big revival of all that magic stuff going on here in the West Country.”

“I had no idea.”

“And every second teenage girl claims to have at least one witch as an ancestor. It’s very much the in thing.”

“Are you for real?”

“You bet.”

Cassie laughed weakly. If only Belladonna had known. All that stuff she had taken so seriously was probably just commonplace now.

“Well, maybe you can tell me more some other time, but I’d better be going now. There should be a bus to Penzance leaving in ten minutes.”

Jake glanced at his watch, whistled and shook his head.

26

“The last one left twenty minutes ago. They’re on the winter timetable now. But I can give you a lift in another half hour, if you like.”

“Do I have a choice?” she blurted out, then added hastily. “Look, that’s really kind of you. Thanks.” * * * *

It hadn’t occurred to Cassie that a lift back to Penzance would involve riding pillion on a motorbike, something she’d never done before. “Hold tight!” Jake told her cheerily, and off they went. Cassie held tight out of sheer terror at first, but then as she began to feel more as if she was part of the bike, instead of some loose appendage that could just drop off going round a corner, she relaxed her grip on Jake’s leather-covered midriff and began to enjoy the rhythm of the ride, the way they balanced on the bike as if they shared the same centre of gravity. She tucked her chin down into her collar and rested one cheek against his back. It was twilight now, and you couldn’t see anything anyway, on account of the hedges.

“We’re coming into Penzance, love. Where did you say you were staying?” He had to almost shout to make himself audible.

“Newlyn. Up on the hill above the Red Lion,” she shouted back. She wouldn’t normally have put him to the bother of taking her to her door, it was just that she was afraid she mightn’t find it on her own, in the dark. If only Sophie could see her now, she thought, riding behind this gorgeous stranger. This Heath Ledger lookalike. That was it! But the resemblance was not as close as she'd imagined at first glance. In fact, the more she had looked at Jake, the less he had reminded her of anyone but himself. A pity all the same that Sophie was not around to witness their rather flamboyant arrival in Newlyn.

27

Gwen, of course, did see her, and seemed to take a dim view of it. She was standing at her front gate, looking a little flustered. “There you are!” she said, sounding relieved and irritated. “I was getting ready to send out a search party!”

Jake tried to explain. “She missed the last bus, so I brought her back. I’m from the craft workshops.”

“Very kind of you I’m sure,” sniffed Gwen.

“Well, drop by sometime, Cassandra,” said Jake, and was off down the hill with a roar.

“He seemed a nice young man,” said Gwen, “but you never can tell these days. You’d better come inside and have a hot drink by the fire.”

Cassie’s eyelids were drooping again, although it was barely seven p.m. They had just finished dinner, and all she could think of was sleep.

“Oh, Gwen,” she said, “I think I’m falling in love!”

Gwen’s face was all alarm.

“May the angels preserve us!” she said.

“Oh,” giggled Cassie, seeing her face, “don’t be afraid. It’s not Jake. It’s Cornwall.”

28

VIII

The next morning Cassie slept in, then woke to another clear, mild day. Gwen had gone out and left a note and a spare house-key, as promised. Cassie had had vague ideas of trying to see one of the stone circles while the weather held, after reading about them at the tourist information centre the previous day. One of the ancient circles of standing stones was on the way to Land’s End. It couldn’t be seen from the road, the woman had said, but the driver would tell her where to get off the bus, and then there were signs.

Scanning her bus timetable anxiously, Cassie set off down the hill. The bus stop she wanted was on the other side of Newlyn. Today felt somehow like an anticlimax, after yesterday’s excitement. She felt a bit lonely and unsure where she really wanted to go. So when she got off the bus and set off down an overgrown path the driver directed her to, she was in a pensive mood, thinking she’d just have a quick look and then catch the next bus back. There were brambles on either side of the path and mud underfoot, and she couldn’t really see where it was leading.

Just as she was beginning to think she must have taken a wrong turning, the thickets of undergrowth ended and she emerged at the edge of the circle. A movement in the bracken on the opposite side of the clearing made her start, and she prepared to flee back down the path as a slim figure got to its feet. But when she realised it was a girl, probably about her own age, she stood her ground. No doubt she had frightened the other visitor to the site, too.

Cassie made her way around the perimeter. The stones were mostly about her height, a few tilted sideways, most upright. Some glittered with facets of quartz crystal. They seemed almost alive, but not threatening. There was a sense of watchful stillness about the place. The other girl had subsided into 29 the bracken, seemingly reassured on seeing that the new arrival appeared quite harmless. Now as she approached her, Cassie saw that she was painting. She had already finished one quick study and was working on another.

“Triptych,’’ she said, glancing up at Cassie. "Three paintings. I must do one more.”

Cassie decided to hang about while it was safe to do so. She certainly wouldn’t have stayed if she’d been alone. But the atmosphere of the stone circle was somehow different from any other place she’d been, so she thought she’d like to prolong her visit until the other girl finished her work.

“Will it bother you if I stay?” she asked. Of course, there was no need to ask permission. This was a public place, after all. But she didn’t want to spoil the mood for the artist.

“No, please do,” said the girl, and kept on painting, alternating her brushstrokes with rapid glances at the stones.

Cassie sat on a dry slab of rock to one side of the circle, and made a conscious effort to sort out all the impressions that had flooded her senses since leaving Australia several days before, but it was no use. And she still felt no better equipped to carry out Belladonna’s task than she had on the other side of the world. It was just too bizarre. She decided instead to let her mind go blank and enjoy the peace and quiet, along with the robin sitting on a twig watching her a metre away.

She felt so ignorant, too. Druids had used this as a meeting-place, but she didn’t know the first thing about Druids. Who could she ask? Gwen might know, but the best person to ask would be – Jake. But wouldn’t it look 30 pathetic, trailing after him to Land’s End? Why would he want to talk to someone like Cassie? He must be at least twenty-five! She’d ask Gwen if there was a library in town. There were lots of things she had to find out, in fact, and fast! She’d better start making a list.

Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Cassie hadn’t noticed the sky clouding over until she began to feel chilled. The atmosphere of the stone circle had changed too, as if something hostile had entered the surroundings. It felt almost as if they were being watched by something or someone sinister. The other girl must have felt it too, because she was working feverishly to finish her last painting.

“See?” she said at last, inviting Cassie to come closer.

The three paintings side by side showed a section of the stone circle. Quickly rendered in acrylic, they nevertheless captured the mood of the place as Cassandra had found it.

“Help me carry them?” said the other girl. “Let’s get out of here, it starts to feel strange.”

Something about the girl made Cassie wonder where she’d seen her before. “Weren’t you on the bus to Land’s End yesterday?” she said.

“Yes, and so were you, no? Renate, from Germany,” the girl said, holding out a paint-smeared hand. “So - let’s go. You take this one. It’s almost dry.”

They picked their way carefully along the muddy path in single file. Renate had left a bicycle under a tree near the main road. “How are you going to manage with the paintings?” said Cassie. “Wait till they’re dry, I guess,” Renate said. 31

“Look, why don’t we walk into the village and get a cup of coffee, and by then your paintings might be dry and there might be a bus to take me to Newlyn.”

“Good idea.”

Over coffee, with the paintings propped up on chairs nearby, Renate told Cassie about art school in London, and how she’d had a sudden urge to go on a painting trip to the West Country, although it wasn’t really the season for it. She hoped to paint some seascapes and some more Celtic stones. She worked in a modern style halfway between abstract and recognisable subject. She preferred working outdoors, catching fleeting impressions of light on stone and water, and she was very pleased with her morning’s work.

“But what brings you to Cornwall, Cassie?”

“A secret mission,” said Cassie, trying to make a joke of it. “No, look, really, you wouldn’t want to know! I don’t think I want to know myself!”

She still hadn’t opened Belladonna’s letter. She was a bit afraid of its contents.

“Have you been to the Museum of Witchcraft in Boscastle?”

Cassie nearly choked on her coffee.

“No, how could I? I’ve only been here two days. What museum did you say?” Perhaps she hadn’t heard correctly.

“The Museum of Witchcraft. It’s an incredible place. Just amazing!”

32

“How did you get there?”

“By bus, but you have to go on a special excursion. They have them once a week, to that village and Tintagel, to King Arthur’s castle.”

Cassie, wide-eyed at how rapidly the pieces were starting to fall into place, suddenly remembered to look at her watch. It was later than she'd thought, and there was no knight on a motorbike waiting to give her a lift home.

“Thanks for telling me, and now I have to run to the bus stop. Can you manage with the paintings?"

"Yes, they're dry now."

"See you!”

“Give me your phone number. Perhaps we can meet.”

Cassie scrawled Gwen's number on a paper napkin and rushed for the bus. Gwen would have no cause for alarm this time. She’d be home before dark. On the way back, as the bus wound through unfamiliar lanes, Cassie digested these new snippets of information. Now there was even a museum of witchcraft. Belladonna wouldn’t recognise the old place if she came back now. Clearly, Cassie would have to visit – what was it called? Boscastle? It was a number one priority, under the heading “essential research”. Forewarned was forearmed, and all that.

IX

The next morning it was raining steadily, like the night of Cassie’s arrival. She lay in bed for a while with the curtains drawn back, wondering whether to 33 venture into Penzance in search of a library, or whether it would be best to stay indoors and write letters and cards. When she came out of her room to have breakfast, Gwen was reading a slightly damp newspaper.

“Terrible isn’t it?” she said. “The Balaclava Man strikes again. That young girl is lucky to have escaped with her life.”

Cassie stopped to read over Gwen’s shoulder. When she saw the photograph of Renate, her shock was audible.

“What’s the matter, dear?” said Gwen.

“It's Renate! I spent several hours with her yesterday. She was painting at the stone circle. I helped her carry her paintings afterwards. We had coffee together in the village.”

“Well, it was near the stone circle that he attacked her. In broad daylight. Fortunately, she was able to attract attention. A farmer heard her screaming and came to the rescue.”

“Can I read it please?”

The words jumped out at Cassie from the page:

After lying low for almost a year, giving most local residents a false sense of security, the Balaclava Man of the St Buryan district has struck again. This time his intended victim was a young German tourist, Renate Hildesheim, who arrived just over a week ago on a painting holiday. She was loading her paintings and equipment onto her bicycle when the attack occurred. The attacker, his face covered by a black balaclava, attempted to drag his victim into dense undergrowth near the Boscawen stone circle, but she resisted long enough to attract attention with her screams. The young woman 34 probably owes her life to the timely arrival of Giles Trevalley, whose fields adjoin the stone circle. The attacker fled before he could be identified. He is said to be of medium height and build…

Last December another young woman was attacked in a similar fashion within five miles of Boscawen. She, too, was a tourist, hiking alone. Police have connected the murder of a young woman near Land’s End two years ago with these subsequent attacks. The suspect is believed to be either a local resident, or someone who visits the area at the same time every year…

Cassie sank into her seat, stunned.

“It says she escaped with scratches and bruises,” said Gwen. “It could have been much worse. But you’d better not go walking alone, dear. Not till they catch him, at least. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you taking those kinds of risks, either.”

“I haven’t even got Renate’s phone number, so that I can phone her and see if she’s alright.”

“I don’t imagine she would have stayed after that, do you? She’s probably on her way back to London by now.”

“Well, if the rain stops I’ll go into Penzance. I have to look up some information in the library, if there is one.”

“Oh yes, in fact there are two. And some very good bookshops.”

Cassie, still shaken, decided to write to her mother and Sophie, then go into town.

35

To her mother she wrote:

Cornwall is fascinating. I had no idea it would be like this. First of all, it’s so beautiful. There are such wild places along the coast, but the villages are so cosy. I love the stone cottages and churches with their Celtic crosses planted in the churchyards. The people seem nice, too, very helpful, and everyone calls you “love”. I feel really ignorant, though, not knowing any of the history, so I’m off to the Penzance library soon to do a bit of background reading. Gwen is a nice landlady, I feel quite at home in her cottage, and I just adore the view from here of the bay and St. Michael’s Mount (when it’s not raining!) I guess you know Cornwall better than I do, so I’ll save the details for when I see you…

And to Sophie:

Hey, Sophie, this is an awesome place, and getting kind of spooky. A German girl I was with yesterday got attacked just after I left her to catch my bus. Apparently there’s some guy called the Balaclava Man wandering round attacking girl tourists. Imagine how that makes me feel! Just as I was really getting a taste for adventure, too.

And would you believe I’m supposed to go creeping round haunted places at inconvenient hours (or so I assume) to please Belladonna's unquiet shade, with the Balaclava Man just waiting for his next victim to come along? Choice, isn’t it?

There’s this guy at Land’s End you’d just die of lust for. He’s really your type. I won’t describe him, that’d be cruel, but Tim Riley wouldn’t stand a chance if you got a glimpse of Jake. He’s kind of mouth-watering, I have to admit, though I don’t really fancy him myself. (I can hear your voice saying “You’re just too picky, Cassandra Miles”. So maybe I am.) Anyway, he gave me a lift home on his motorbike after I missed the bus. Thrill-ing! I know you’ve been on them lots of times, but I’m still so inexperienced, compared with you. It was really sexy…

36

She sealed the envelopes and addressed them. By the time she set off down the hill in her specially-purchased Drizabone, the rain had eased off, and a few patches of blue sky had appeared.

At the library, more surprises awaited her. “You’d be best to start with the website. Try entries under witches and Druids,” said the librarian. She watched Cassandra type in the heading “witchcraft in Cornwall”. Astonished, she read that there were about a thousand pages of entries. “What time do you close?” she asked anxiously. “Five o’clock, but we’re open at nine in the morning.”

Where should she start? Madgy Figgy? Had such a person existed? In fact, yes. She started transcribing.

What had Belladonna put her up to? But this Molly woman, or rather, witch, must have been dead for more than a century. Wasn’t she being sent on a wild goose chase involving the ghost of a long-extinct curse?

There was so much information here at her fingertips, and yet she could have had access to it without ever leaving Australia, if only she’d realised. Though it wouldn’t have meant the same there. Being here, near the places where these women had cast their spells, and had been so feared and envied by the less powerful, made it all seem much more tangible and intriguing, somehow.

She opened entry after entry. St Levan, she learned, had once been a meeting- place for a famous coven, as well one of the favourite haunts of none other than the formidable Madgy Figgy.

And there was a website for the Museum of Witchcraft Renate had told her about, too.

37

Not only were there thousands of entries about the past, but there was even one for a present-day witch, or wise woman, who was available for consultation. Cassandra made a note of the details, just in case. A few days ago she would have ridiculed the idea of consulting a witch. Now it was beginning to seem like a sensible thing to do, given the circumstances.

Planning to continue her browsing the following day, she opened a site on stone circles just before closing time. The Boscawen circle dated from the period 2,700 - 2,000 BC. That made it, at a conservative estimate, at least 4,000 years old. The functions of stone circles were as manifold and complex as their design appeared simple. In fact, Boscawen was an ellipse, not a circle, and its nineteen stones suggested a connection with the time it took to complete one Metonic cycle - nineteen years - in which the sun and moon moved through a cycle of changing positions in relation to each other, and returned to the same relative positions they had occupied exactly nineteen years previously, on the same date and at more or less the same time of day. The sophistication of the ancient circle builders in matters of astronomy had been awesome. The complex ramifications of the stone circles were mind- boggling. They truly were a paradigm for all aspects of life and death, practicality and spirituality, in the culture that had created them. In one afternoon in the library, you could barely hope to scratch the surface. She could see she had a lot of catching-up to do.

In the remaining few minutes, she read a "megalithic" interpretation of a fairy tale she had loved as a child, "The Sleeping Beauty". The interpretation was based on the unreconciled differences between the lunar calendar and the twelve-month calendar, a rationalisation which ignored the fact that a calendar based on the time it took for the moon to complete a circuit of the heavens would consist of thirteen months. The same source informed her that the human body synchronises to the lunar day of twenty-four hours and forty-eight minutes, when placed in sensory deprivation - places like space 38 stations and dungeons - where the diurnal light rhythm is excluded. So it was deemed unwise to ignore the influence of the moon. And that, it seemed, was the real meaning of the tale of "The Sleeping Beauty".

She found the interpretation so intriguing that she down-loaded it to take home. Throughout the world may be found the same legends. A hero figure emerges from obscurity to become a knight or a saviour. He then recruits twelve disciples, knights or soldiers to assist in this mission, thus becoming the thirteenth member of the group, and is eventually killed or sacrificed, thereby immortalised. The story is the same, even in many of the lesser details, and its heroes include Jesus, King Arthur and the Mexican Kukulcan. Always, the numbers are twelve and thirteen, with the thirteenth offering salvation, redemption and completeness. With Arthur, we even get a Round Table.

The fairy story of "Sleeping Beauty", sometimes called "Briar Rose", is essentially conveying a similar message. A king and a queen desire a child. Eventually, the queen is able to conceive and gives birth to a remarkably beautiful girl-child. The king wishes to invite all the wise women to a feast in order that they can confer a blessing each on the princess. There are thirteen wise women in the land but, alas, the king has only twelve golden plates. Inevitably, the thirteenth wise woman is excluded from the guest list and, equally inevitably, she bursts in on the proceedings and places a curse on both the kingdom and the child, both of which eventually succumb on the child's thirteenth birthday (in some versions). The kingdom then falls asleep, awaiting the handsome prince who can hack his way through all the briars and brambles in order to kiss the princess and restore the kingdom once again, and bring about the "happy ever after" ending.

No one complains about their fate in this charming story. Leaving out the thirteenth wise woman naturally invokes the curse. It is an inevitable consequence of excluding the feminine, lunar aspects of life. The kingdom then falls asleep until the beauty of 39 the princess - the "feminine" component - is once again accepted and valued. The meaning of the twelve golden plates will now be understood…

"Well," thought Cassie as the bell rang to signal that the library was closing, "this certainly puts a new spin on it … or rather, an old spin." She still liked the story of the Sleeping Beauty. In fact, she liked it even more in her present circumstances, because it was a tale in which the hero and heroine managed to subvert a curse, and nobody had to be sacrificed.

She realised as she set off towards Newlyn that, for all her browsing, she was no closer than before to understanding the precise nature of Operation Belladonna.

X

The next day dawned clear and cold, and Cassie, sniffing the salty air through her open window, reflected that it would be a waste to spend such a morning indoors. Perhaps she could just go to the village where the practising wise woman lived, and find her house, and see how she’d feel about arranging a visit. It was a village on the bus route, she’d passed through it on the way into Penzance, four days ago. Amazing how four days could make such a huge difference to your attitudes. It was all due to experience, she felt. It changed your preconceptions. She’d thought Cornwall would be boring, and now she was up to her neck in all kinds of excitement. She’d thought most males were nerds, until she met Jake. Well, he wasn’t a complete nerd, was he? She’d thought witchcraft was just quaint superstition, but it seemed there was more to it than that… And all these shifts had come about in only four days. It was awesome.

But first, she had to ask Gwen if there’d been any news of the Balaclava Man. It was really off-putting, knowing he might be lurking in places she wanted to 40 visit. But Gwen said there was nothing more. Just a warning to women to avoid any isolated places, and not to go out walking unaccompanied.

“Great,” said Cassie. “That’s all I need. But it’s okay to take a bus ride, isn’t it?”

“Yes, dear, just don’t walk anywhere out of the villages on your own.”

So it was that Cassie found herself wandering round an old Cornish village, peering at street signs and names on houses, and bumping into Jake on his bike.

“What are you doing here?” he said, stopping abruptly and doffing his helmet.

“I could ask you the same,” she retorted.

“Well, I’m on the way to the workshop, but I’ve got an aunt in this village, so sometimes I drop in for coffee. Now, your turn.”

“I was looking for someone.”

“What kind of someone?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Cassandra, I don’t want to leap to conclusions, but I’d hate to see you get hurt. You’re looking for magic, I’d not be surprised, and you don’t seem to realise you could be in danger.”

“What do you mean?” 41

“A girl was attacked…”

“I know, I was with her just before it happened…”

“Look, it’s none of my business, but will you be careful at least? Don’t go walking alone on the cliffs. And if there are places you want to see, ask me. I’ll take you.”

“Why are you being so kind? We’re practically strangers.”

“Cassandra, I’d rather not say. I’ll tell you sometime, but here’s not the place. This is my card. Think about what I said, and give me a call. Have a nice day.”

He swung onto the road and went on his way.

Now, why had she come here?

The house she was seeking was not hard to find, but looked reassuringly like other houses in the village. Its windowpanes were polished till they gleamed, and there was a large grey cat sunning itself on a window-ledge. Cassandra was so busy peering at the cottage that she didn’t notice she was being scrutinised from an upstairs window. “Were you looking for me?” asked a voice above her head.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“I’ll come down.”

42

Sitting inside at the kitchen table, drinking a brew of herbal tea (“It tastes a bit strange, but it clears your head”) Cassandra looked at the woman opposite. She was perhaps in her late forties, with hair cropped very short and large, luminous eyes.

“Now, what brings you here, Cassandra?”

Cassie tried to explain, but when she raised the topic of Belladonna’s instructions and how she should approach them, the other woman said: “No, don’t tell me yet. It’s best if I don’t interfere in this. It’s a fact that too many cooks really can spoil the broth. You see, we don’t know the precise details and circumstances of the original spell. That is the problem."

"But what about the apparition?" said Cassie. "She came to me and told me that I had to keep my promise, or else harm might come to me."

"It's not necessarily the effects of a curse. It could be the effect of your aunt believing she was cursed. She may have been haunted by her own fear, which is a powerful enemy that weakens people from within. And she may have somehow transmitted it to you. Once the fear of invisible forces has taken root, it is very difficult to rid yourself of it."

"But how do I know what is real and what is imaginary?"

"Sometimes these things reveal themselves if you are vigilant and patient. So just try to do as your aunt instructed for now, but come to me if anything goes wrong. You see, you are a stranger to the world your aunt remembers. Much of what she knew has vanished, or been transmuted to the spirit realm, so her words are your only guide. You are on a threshold only you can cross. You must tread carefully. But come to see me any time you wish. When you are feeling more settled, we might do some scrying and divination. But now it's 43 too soon. There's too much turbulence around you. You arrived from Australia when? Only four days ago… In the meantime, carry this for your own protection." She handed a small, soft object to Cassandra. "You may be in some kind of danger, but you are not without protectors. And stay in contact with silver, it will help to give you strength.”

Silver, she thought. That could only mean – Jake!

She looked at the talisman the wise woman had given her. It was a little muslin pouch filled with dried herbs and flowers. “Those herbs in the pouch are to help ward off evil. They have powerful purifying properties. Every time you remember that, you will strengthen your resistance. And you must not succumb to fear. Fear is the accomplice of evil.”

The Wise Woman seemed to have nothing further to say, and Cassie was too much in awe of her to try to prolong the consultation, so she rose to leave.

“Thank you,” said Cassie. “I’ll remember that. And now, would you like me to pay you for…?”

“Not in money. Be of good faith, that’s all I ask.”

“I’ll try,” said Cassandra, not quite sure what was meant by that.

The room was pungent with bunches of drying herbs and flowers. Cassandra wondered how this woman had been drawn to witchcraft, or how she had become aware she possessed whatever powers it took to become a wise woman, but she was too shy to ask. She would go home and open the letter. Postponing it was making things worse. It would, she guessed, contain some instructions about St Levan, so she’d try to go there tomorrow, just to get an 44 idea of the place, and find out where it was in relation to Madgy Figgy’s Chair.

When she got back to Newlyn, however, there was a message to call Renate, and a phone number.

Renate had not yet left. The police had asked her to stay a few more days if possible, in case there were any suspects to be identified.

“I can’t stand being indoors,” she told Cassie. “I want to paint the sea. Will you come somewhere with me tomorrow?”

“Can we go to St Levan? It’s near the sea, and I think I'll probably have to go there anyway.”

They agreed to meet at the bus station. There were only two buses a day, which left plenty of time for painting.

That night, Cassie opened Belladonna’s letter. Detailed but to the point, it included strict instructions not to show it to anyone. As she had anticipated, there was a ritual to be performed at St Levan. In fact, there were three rituals, which had to be performed within the timespan of a single lunar day - twenty-four hours and forty-eight minutes. The second and third rituals were to take place at the stone circle known as the Merry Maidens, and at Madgy's Chair. But it all had to begin at St Levan, so she'd use this trip to reconnoitre.

There was also the matter of the mysterious casket Belladonna's trustees had given her, along with the letter. The wizened, silver-haired old man at the trustees' office had placed both items in her hand: the letter in an envelope of heavy, hand-made ivory paper, sealed with a blob of red sealing-wax and marked "For Cassandra's Eyes Only", and the carved, brass-inlaid hexagonal 45 wooden casket with a brass lining, also sealed with some kind of wax where the lid fitted snugly on top. It looked ancient and exotic, but not remotely English. "A Moorish artefact, no doubt the legacy of a Cornish shipwreck," said the little man sagely. His long, wispy beard and shabby green velvet jacket reminded Cassandra of a leprechaun. "You must be sure to empty the contents of this casket over Madgie Figgy's Chair," he intoned. "It is your sacred duty and I cannot stress its gravity too much."

Cassie, wide-eyed, nodded solemnly, little suspecting at the time what that might yet entail. But she already had one foot on the bridge to the unknown, and she felt instinctively that destiny had now been set in train; that, according to some indefinable law of nature or gravity, there was no going back.

She kept the casket locked inside a vanity case she'd bought specially. Belladonna's instructions were explicit that it should not be opened until the prescribed moment.

XI

When Renate and Cassie boarded the local bus to St Levan, they were too preoccupied with their own recent encounters and present plans to notice the young man with tousled hair in the back seat. He was wearing dark glasses, although the day was dull rather than sunny, and a scarf muffled the lower part of his face.

When they alighted in the tiny hamlet, they looked around and noticed the church, but then as the bus pulled out from the stop, Cassie gave a gasp of 46 astonishment. Jake was behind the bus, still astride his stationary bike, one foot balancing on the ground, as if undecided whether to go or stay. There was no point in pretending she hadn't seen him, so Cassie stepped closer.

"First I see you in Marazion, 'visiting your aunt', and now here. Is this what you call coincidence, or do you have aunts in every village?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realised how belligerent they sounded, and bit her lip in confusion.

"I believe you yourself paid a visit to my aunt in Marazion, so what's the big deal?"

Cassie was again thrown off-balance.

"You mean…?"

"Exactly. And what brings you to St Levan, young lady, if I may be so bold?"

"A painting trip. This is Renate," said Cassie, indicating her friend, who was looking somewhat nonplussed by the whole situation.

Jake held out his hand. "Jake Trefusis - artist in silver, or trying to be. At your service."

Cassie was slightly put off by his tone of mock gallantry. This was probably how he behaved with all the girls.

He eyed Renate's cumbersome painting gear, and said, in a more even tone, "Seriously, won't you let me help you with that? Where were you heading, exactly?" 47

Renate, who had been eyeing him nervously, relaxed a little, as if she'd decided to trust him. "Cassie knows where we are going."

"I don't really," Cassie admitted, "but we were going to look for the Well of St Levan, and maybe paint from the edge of the cliffs near there."

"Easy. Step this way," said Jake, dismounting and taking Renate's bag and canvases.

"Don't you have to work today?" Cassie asked as they filed along a path.

"Trade is slow in the winter, and I'm self-employed, remember?" said Jake. "The others will look out for me, in any case. They make different things, we're not in competition, so they don't mind making the occasional sale for me if I'm not there. In the winter, we work less. It's the time when we build up stocks for the summer, and try to keep ourselves occupied through the dark months of the year, so we don't have time to feel down."

"Why would you feel down?" asked Renate.

"That's a good question," said Jake, "but I shan't burden you with the answer just now."

The hamlet had dropped out of sight behind them, and they could see the clifftops ahead. The path followed a diagonal route towards a dip between rising slopes on either side. In the hollow, sheltered slightly by the lie of the land from the sea, two paths intersected, and some slabs of stone surrounded what appeared to be a trickle from a spring.

"This is the site of the famous well," explained Jake. 48

It certainly didn't look like anything to get excited about. Cassie couldn't hide her disappointment.

"I know it doesn't look like much," said Jake, noticing her expression, "but there's loads of folklore about this place, both Christian and pagan. It's very special."

They all stood and looked at it for a few minutes, reading the inscription, then Renate said, "I think I want to be closer to the sea. I want to paint the cliffs and sky and sea today. Tomorrow I go back to the city, so it's my last chance."

They all moved off uphill in the direction of the cliffs. As they reached higher ground, a structure appeared, outlined against the sky to the north. There were elaborate metal antennae on its roof, gleaming silver against a pewter sky.

"What is that building?" Renate asked.

"Coastguard station. There's a helicopter pad beside it," Jake explained. "As long as you stay in view of it, you should be safe."

Renate and Cassie both looked at him, but said nothing. So that was it! thought Cassie, just as she'd suspected. He had taken it upon himself to protect them. She had mixed feelings about that. She didn't like to think of herself as in need of Jake's protection. He obviously meant well, but did he really think they were in danger here?

"So I'll be off now," Jake said. "Better see how the others are getting on. And how about a little excursion to Zennor one of these days, young Cassie?"

49

Cassie shrugged and looked at Renate. "I would love to see Zennor," Renate said. "If only I could stay."

"Okay," said Cassie. "When?"

"Pick you up the day after tomorrow, at Gwen's house. Ten a.m. sound okay?"

"Sure, why not?" said Cassie. "See you then."

He raised his hand in salute as he turned and strode off over the ridge.

XII

Renate immediately began to pace about near the edge of the cliffs. When she had decided on her vantage point, she laid out her materials. Fortunately, the air was calm. The cliffs could be very windy. Cassie looked on, uncertain what she should do next.

"He's nice, your friend," said Renate as she settled herself to start work. "How did you meet?"

"First of all, he's not my friend," began Cassie. "I met him at Land's End, on my first day here, and I think he's a bit of a tourist trap, if you ask me…"

"It's interesting that he works in silver."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because silver has special symbolism. Purity, chastity. Also the moon and the unconscious. In the Tarot, Temperance, the Angel of Time, pours liquid from 50 a silver cup into a gold one. The liquid represents the spirit, and this card shows the unconscious combining with the conscious."

"Where did you learn all that?"

"I do Tarot readings, so I study the cards a lot."

"But what does this have to do with Jake?"

"Since he works in silver, he must know about its spiritual properties. These must be important to him. Because of its connection with the moon and the unconscious, it is the perfect metal for making amulets and talismans…"

Renate gave her a quizzical look. "Do you want to go exploring? But please, one favour. Stay where I can see you. After… what happened, I'm not so brave…"

"Of course," said Cassie. "I'll just go towards the Coastguard station and see what there is to see. Somewhere around here there should be a place called Madgy Figgy's Chair."

She left Renate to get on with her painting and headed uphill, in the direction of the Coastguard station, which, although it looked relatively close in the clear air, was still a considerable distance away.

At the edge of a projecting lip of cliff she stopped and sat on a rock to take in the view. Renate, behind and below her, looked small and vulnerable as she bent to her work. Cassie shuddered to think of her dramatic ordeal at Boscawen. She angled her body in the opposite direction to gaze along the coast towards Land's End, which was too distant to see, and hidden by undulations of the land's surface and series of cliffs advancing into the sea 51 and retreating from it. The majestic Atlantic was so green and clean, and so lethal where it conspired with the base of the cliffs. The number of shipwrecks around these shores in the past hundred years was mind-boggling, according to what she had read in the booklets on sale at the tourist centre. But not all of them had been accidents. Many were due to the doings of the Wreckers, in league with unscrupulous people like Madgy Figgy.

According to sources now lost in the blurring of fact, homage, fear and legend, Madgy had been able to whistle up storms from a clear sky. She knew such charms and incantations as would call up the wildest weather, the blackest night, the cruellest sea, luring the helpless ships and their crews to their doom on the jagged rocks at the foot of these cliffs, where the wreckers would finish off those who survived, and strip the lost ships of their cargo.

It was said that Madgy was one of those who carried the decoy lights, promising safety to ships in distress while enticing them to destruction. No wonder she had been feared by all and sundry in the West Country. No wonder they made up rhymes and ballads about her, above ground and below, in the tin mines deep beneath the earth, on the farms, in the ports, in the villages. No wonder Belladonna had been in superstitious awe of her and her minions.

Cassie pulled a couple of folded pieces of paper from her pocket. On them she had copied some texts she'd found at the library. On one she had written:

Madgy Figgy was the best known witch of the St. Levan and St. Buryan coven. On the dramatic coastline at Land's End, at a place known as Tol-Pedden-Penwith, there can be found a pile of granite stones which became known as Madgy Figgy's Chair. It was from this precarious seat that she would cast her wicked spells to whip up tremendous 52

storms and then, using the light of her lantern, she would lure ships onto the rocks and the sailors to their death. Once the ships were wrecked, Figgy and her cronies would loot the booties from the ships and she was often to be seen dressed in fine clothes and jewels. Apparently, during storms, a light can still be seen on Madgy Figgy's chair.

On the second piece of paper were the words of a Cornish tin-miners' song, extolling Madgy's virtues in tones of affectionate admiration. Here, Madgy appeared as a real woman, albeit a formidable one, at the centre of a community that was in no doubt as to the efficacy of her powers. She reread the words of "An Maggy's Song from The Logan Rock." Her research at the library had turned up references to the Logan Rock, an immense horizontal slab of granite somewhere on the coast a little to the south, balancing precariously on a vertical shaft of similar stone. "An", she now knew, was a local word for "Aunt". The tin-miners' song was one of many that paid homage to Madgy Figgy.

Insure, sure enough, with An Maggy. Take out her famous Comprehensive Policy. For she's of the real old "peller" breed, Her charms and crews are guaranteed by St. Leavan Witches Ltd. Insure, sure enough, with An Maggy.

Why, you all look wisht, you all look haunted. What's been making you feel down-daunted? The hens broody, the cows dry? Your milk turned to curds and whey? Then come to An Maggy, You're over-looked. You're ill-wisht! 53

Someone has given you the evil eye. Your cow's begrudged. Your milk's bewitched. Someone has said he wished you were dead. But Maggy can find and punish the spy. Insure with An Maggy etc.

Bad eyes have you? Wounds, bruises? Maggy distils for all diseases. House haunted? Pigs possessed? Maggy can put the old 'un to rest. So come to An Maggy. At dead of night she'll cure the blight, call up spirits or lay them down. She'll reverse any kind of curse, Bring back money you lost as well. Insure with An Maggy, etc.

This was all very well, if Madgy, as she was more often known, was your friend. But what if the likes of her became your enemy?

It wasn't difficult to imagine a scary-looking old woman in a scarlet cloak, sitting on top of a cliff somewhere near here, conjuring nature's forces of destruction or healing, according to her whim. All the most revered witches had worn scarlet cloaks, not black, as a kind of hallmark of their calling.

With an effort, Cassie refocused on the present. The breeze was beginning to rise, and she became aware of a sound that she at first thought was man- made, a fluting in the rocks above the sea. It went on, rising and falling, until she realised it must be the sound of the wind in a rock-chimney. It was a haunting, otherworldly sound, and again she thought of Madgy, sitting here, charmed by the airy music.

54

Remembering Renate, she looked back. Renate was standing, waving. Cassie hurried downhill to see why.

When Cassie reached her side, Renate handed her a little painting, still wet, on a square of canvas stretched over stiff backing. "Careful, it's not dry yet," said Renate shyly. "Do you like it?"

Cassie stared, astonished. Clearly it was Jake, mounted on a white horse and clad in Arthurian armour. The painting had a title, "Knight of Pentacles".

"You know, from the Tarot?" said Renate. "This knight is very pure and true…"

"It's beautiful," said Cassie. "But don't you want to keep it?"

Renate shook her head. "It's for you. A memento of us both. Him, and me, who painted it."

Cassie suddenly felt like weeping. She hugged Renate, kissing her on both pale cheeks. "What a beautiful person you are!" she said impulsively. "But I hadn't thought of him like that at all. He rides a motorbike and wears black leather…"

"But what he is at heart, this is what matters…"

"Yes, I guess you're right… Hey, do you want a break from painting? Race you to the Coastguard station?"

"Okay, why not?" Renate said. "I leave my things here. Nobody is around to steal them, I think…"

55

The two girls set off uphill, stumbling on the uneven ground, falling against each other, picking themselves up each time they lost their balance and laughing wildly.

XIII

Renate and Cassie had reached a more level stretch of the clifftops, with dizzying views of the rocks below at the foot of sheer drops. They stopped to catch their breath, and became aware of a muffled booming sound away to the right.

"Sounds like artillery," said Cassie nervously. "Do you think we're safe?"

They were retreating from the cliff-edge, Renate a little ahead, when she suddenly froze in her tracks, her arm outstretched to warn Cassie to keep back.

"What is it, Renate?"

"Come slowly," said Renate.

Cassie edged forward, and exclaimed in surprise. A metre in front of their feet, the earth opened in a gaping pit. From far below, the boom of the sea travelled up, echoing strangely.

Cassie dropped to her knees, then lay on her stomach to wriggle towards the edge of the pit. Renate followed suit. It was an awesome cavern, like a gigantic well going down through the rock. They could see the waves at the bottom, surging in and smashing against the sides, before sucking back.

56

"It's a real witch's cauldron," said Cassie. "This must be the blowhole I've read about. But why are there no warning signs, or some kind of safety barrier? If you didn't know it was here, you could just fall in and disappear."

"That's what I nearly did!" said Renate, trying to raise a laugh.

They lay peering over the rim for a while, watching and listening in silence. Cassie was beginning to understand why there had once been a coven in St Levan. The surroundings were bristling with uncanny, freakish landforms and weird sound effects.

"I wonder if we can locate Madgy Figgy's Chair," she said at last.

"What's that?" asked Renate.

"It's some sort of natural formation of granite boulders near here, where a famous witch called Madgy Figgy used to come and sit."

They wriggled back from the edge and stood, still looking warily at it.

"Let's remember where it is," Renate said, "for when we come back. I don't want to fall in!"

They moved along the edge of the cliffs, looking for signposts or labels, but there were none. There was one tall column of granite, joined to the land by a narrow saddle of rock, that Cassie looked at, wondering. It would have taken an agile witch to climb to the top, and a tenacious one to hold on in a gale, but it did resemble a sketch she had seen in one of the guidebooks she'd studied. She could see that for someone with no fear of heights, there were enough footholds to get to the top, but one false move could be fatal. Surely an old 57 woman, even one who was into magic, would settle for something less precarious?

"I don't really know what I'm looking for," she admitted to Renate.

"Are we going to the Coastguard station?" Renate said.

"We might as well," said Cassie, so they set off once again.

As they approached, they could see no signs of people behind the plate-glass observation deck, but then a helicopter swept in low over their heads and landed behind the building. Two men in camouflage uniforms came into view.

"Looks kind of military," muttered Cassie. "Let's go back."

They began to retrace their steps, careful to skirt the blowhole, not inclined to stop for another look. It had made a deep impression on them both, and they were still digesting that.

Reaching the place where she had painted the Knight of Pentacles, Renate cried out. Cassie, some metres behind her, rushed forward.

"What is it?" she said, seeing Renate's white face.

Renate gestured toward her palette. In thick black paint on its surface, someone had left the outline of an upside-down pentacle.

Cassie looked at Renate, puzzled.

"It's a Satanic symbol," Renate said faintly. "Somebody wishes to harm me." 58

"But why?" asked Cassie, as they hurried back to the safety of St Levan. "Do you know anyone here?"

"Not a soul," said Renate, tears trickling down her cheeks.

They were passing the churchyard. "Let's go in," said Cassie. "I've read that this is a famous church. Then it'll be time for the bus to Penzance. Don't cry - I won't let anyone hurt you." Her arm went round Renate's shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. The church door was unlatched, and inside it was dim and peaceful and quiet.

XIV

Travelling back on the bus to Penzance, their mood was subdued.

"Now I have to go to the police again," said Renate glumly.

"I'll come with you," said Cassie. "This person," she continued. "The stalker. How can you be sure he won't follow you to London?"

"I can't," said Renate bleakly. "But in London I'm never alone, so it's probably safer. I have the feeling it's something to do with here, not there."

"Let's hope you're right," said Cassie, and changed the subject.

To cheer up her friend, she suggested another excursion the following day, to Land's End, where they would have Jake's protection, and where Renate could paint without feeling exposed to predators. It seemed a better idea than spending the day indoors, waiting to catch the evening train to London, a prey to her fears. 59

At the police station, Renate reported the latest, sinister episode, and the constable on duty insisted on driving both the girls home.

Gwen's alarmed face appeared at the window, and after she learned the reason for the police escort she was not reassured.

"I don't like the sound of it," she muttered. "Don't like the sound of it at all!"

The next day dawned clear and bright, auguring well for the trip to Land's End. The girls climbed aboard the bus in good spirits, and rushed to the workshops on their arrival. Although it was past mid-morning, there was no sign of Jake.

Annabel glanced up from her work. "Looking for someone? Haven't I met you? Oh yes, you're Jake's little friend. But I'm afraid he's not coming in today…"

"Is something the matter?" asked Cassie, detecting an odd note in Annabel's voice.

"Well, yes and no…" said Annabel warily.

Cassie would not lower her gaze until Annabel sighed in capitulation.

"As a matter of fact, he's gone to the cemetery."

"The cemetery?" echoed Cassie.

"Yes. Today is the anniversary of Angela's death. They were going to be married." 60

Cassie was speechless for several seconds, then she managed to croak: "How did she die?"

"She was murdered," said Annabel tersely. "Not far from here. Jake blames himself, for not being with her. They think it was the Balaclava Man, but the finger of blame was first pointed at Jake. Of course, this was easily disproved, but all in all, it's taking him time to recover. As you can imagine."

Renate was trembling like a leaf in a gale. Cassie grabbed her and hugged her hard. "It's okay, you're safe. We won't let him get you."

Now it was Annabel's turn to look puzzled.

"Renate was attacked a few days ago. At Boscawen."

"Oh no!" said Annabel sympathetically. "How appalling!"

"We've actually come to paint," said Cassie. "Do you think we should?"

"As long as you stay in sight of the buildings you should be safe enough," she replied.

"You could paint the lighthouse," suggested Cassie, pulling Renate by the arm. "I'll sit beside you and watch, if you don't mind. I've always wished I could learn how to paint."

So it was when Jake found them a couple of hours later, heads together, absorbed in Renate's work as she added the finishing touches. Cassie eyed him covertly. He certainly looked drawn and pale. The cheerful façade was nowhere in evidence. 61

"Care for a coffee?" he asked them, making an effort. "But don't miss the bus this time. I doubt I could fit the pair of you and all that gear on my pillion!"

Nobody spoke as they sipped their coffee. Jake wished Renate a safe journey as he saw them onto the bus, and as Cassie glanced back before boarding he added, "Don't forget about Zennor."

She nodded. "Tomorrow at ten."

They collected Renate's things from her Bed and Breakfast place and walked down to the station. The train was departing at six. As it pulled out, Cassie waved and smiled, but then she felt cold and very alone on the platform. She hurried out. It was dark, but by now she knew the way home. It just felt kind of spooky, all of a sudden, walking back along the esplanade. She had the weird feeling of being watched, of being followed, but when she looked back, she could see noone in the lights strung along the sea-wall. She quickened her pace and ran in through the gate. Gwen was relieved to see her, but cross.

"What am I to think, when you're not home by nightfall?" she demanded indignantly. "Am I to call the police and report you as missing, or what?"

Cassie felt guilty. In the midst of the day's revelations and the emotional backwash she was still feeling, she'd clean forgotten to give Gwen a call and tell her she'd be late.

"I was seeing Renate off on the train," she explained sheepishly. "I promise I'll ring you in future if I'm going to be late."

XV

62

The morning dawned with the sun shining between silky cushions of cloud and St Michael's Mount outlined like an old aquatint across Mount's Bay, while the usual desultory herring-gulls wheeled, mewing, outside Gwen's windows.

Jake arrived promptly at ten. Cassie, with a wave to Gwen, rushed out and climbed aboard his Harley, relishing the sensation of riding tucked in behind him in the fresh, fragrant morning air, through the most breathtaking countryside she had yet seen. There were fewer hedges, so she had a clear view of the fields and downs, the gullies russet with bracken, ancient granite outcrops and a huge sky, soft with cumulus.

They pulled in to the little hamlet of Zennor. "Join me in a Ploughman's?" Jake offered, then had to explain that this was a pub lunch. Cassie wasn't hungry. She already felt somewhat out of her depth, alone with Jake in unfamiliar surroundings, with what she had been told about him weighing on her mind. Her heart was beating erratically, her stomach was aflutter.

"Not really hungry," she murmured.

"Maybe later?"

She nodded.

He took her by the hand and said, "I want to show you something, Cass."

They were walking towards the churchyard, and she hung back, wondering if he was going to show her his girlfriend's grave, or something ghoulish like that.

"What's the matter?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. 63

"What are we going to see?"

"A mermaid."

She looked incredulous. "Try pulling the other one."

"I'm serious."

They entered the church. It was like the one at St Levan, only lighter in atmosphere. The timber ribs supporting the roof reminded her of the upturned hull of a boat.

"Look, here she is," said Jake, leading her to the carved end of a pew. Cassie saw that there was indeed a mermaid, carved into the wood. She looked very ancient, and dark from the many layers of varnish.

"Believe me now?"

She nodded again. "Why did you want to show me?"

"No special reason. I just wanted to be with you."

Cassie looked alarmed.

"Oh please, Cassie, don't look like that. I'm not contemplating anything of a predatory nature, believe me."

He held her gaze squarely, and she could read nothing in it to contradict his assurances.

64

"Why me?" she said, not content to leave it at that.

"Why not you? Can't a cat look at a queen?"

"Nobody wanted to before," she said.

"They were afraid your lustre would blind them."

Cassie looked frankly incredulous now. "Please don't play games with me," she muttered.

"Sweetheart, this isn't a game. I mean it. But I wouldn't harm a hair of your head, you have to believe me."

"Let's go outside, it's chilly in here," she replied, sidestepping the issue.

They walked among ancient grave markers, until an inscription caught Cassie's eye. "Goodnight, but not goodbye", it read. It seemed a clear enough warning of intent.

"Do you believe that spirits can return to haunt the living?" she asked.

"Every spirit has to make its peace. Death doesn't change that," he said soberly.

"Annabel told me," she said in a low voice.

"Did she?" he said, and then. "I know. She told me she'd told you."

"I'm sorry," said Cassie, looking up to meet his gaze.

65

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to try to understand."

"I feel sorry for her," murmured Cassie. "To die so young, and in such a way."

His features contorted. "Don't," he said. "Thank you for your concern, but don't."

He met her eyes squarely, and said. "I blame myself."

"But why?"

"We had arranged to spend the day at the workshops. She was coming by car. But then my dad had plans to take the boat out on the midnight tide, and he wanted me with him. I tried to contact Angela, but she wasn't at home, so I left a message with Toby to tell her to wait at Land's End till I got back from fishing."

"So why do you blame yourself?"

"As we were returning to port, a heavy fog followed us in from the sea, and I had the feeling that something was wrong, but I didn't know what. There was nothing I could do, in any case, until we reached harbour. While I was on my way to Land's End he… he struck …"

His face was the colour of ash, and his hands were trembling.

"Let's go somewhere else," she said, pulling him gently by the arm. "Let's walk up an appetite."

When they stopped to catch their breath, he sat beside her on a rock and took her hand. She pulled away. 66

"No, let me," he said gently. "I feel I owe you an explanation. I'm far from over Angela's death. We were childhood sweethearts. I wouldn't have dreamt of life without her, until it happened. Nor did I want to recover. Ever. Until I met you. I can't explain why, but you make my heart race. It isn't a carnal desire, it's more karmic. But our family claims to be cursed. The curse falls on the women we love, and I'm frightened for you. I don't want to love you Cassie, but when you look at me, I lose all sense of resistance. Now that you know, you can laugh if you like. But let me at least shout you lunch at the pub."

Cassie followed him along the clifftop in a blue blur of sea, a grey blur of granite, and a rust blur of bracken, concentrating on placing her feet accurately on the narrow path, on not stumbling or tripping.

After a time he looked back, ill at ease with her silence.

"Don't let it burden you, Queen Isabella. I'm not in a hurry, you know. If it was meant to be, it will be. I told you, for me this is karmic."

XVI

What was she supposed to do now? Lie low and go to the library, she decided. And plan how she was supposed to do Belladonna' s bidding. It was going to be more difficult than she had first thought.

She was also put out by the fact that Jake had prior claims on the Wise Woman. They could be in cahoots for all she knew, so Cassie had better avoid her. Her feelings had been in turmoil from the moment she'd met him, and she blamed herself for succumbing too easily to his charm. She felt almost ill 67 with conflicting emotions. Sophie, now, would have had no such qualms. She'd have been off after Jake in a flash. But would he have wanted Sophie? She certainly didn't want him to want Sophie, but it was Sophie who drove the boys wild. Then again, could you call Jake a boy? Not really. Oh, why did she have to go through all this? She'd been better off on her own. But what was she saying? She was still "on her own", Zennor had not changed a thing.

"You know that's not true," she told herself crossly. "Cassie Miles, you are lying."

"To the library!" she said aloud, and reached for her coat and umbrella. As she did so, she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the hall stand. Something had changed. Her face wore a different expression, more vital, more open, but her eyes had become more mysterious, as if they were guarding a secret. Strange.

She decided to call at the tourist centre and bus station on her way, to see when the next excursion to Boscastle would be taking place. She was in luck. There was a bus-tour arranged for the following day, taking in the Museum of Witchcraft as well as nearby Tintagel.

At the library, Cassie tried to concentrate on following the trail of the formidable Figgy. There was one story, in a book of Cornish folklore, that left no room for doubt about the powers "An Maggy" had been credited with. The story was called "Madgy Figgy's Chair".

All those who have visited the fine piles of rock in the vicinity of the so-called "St Levan," Land's-End, called Tol-Pedden-Penwith - and infinitely finer than anything immediately surrounding the most western promontory itself - cannot have failed to notice the arrangement of cubical masses of granite piled one upon the other, known as the Chair Ladder. 68

This remarkable pile presents to the beat of the Atlantic waves a sheer face of cliff of very considerable height, standing up like a huge basaltic column, … the horizontal joints representing so many steps in the so-called "Ladder". On the top is placed a stone of somewhat remarkable shape, which is by no great effort of the imagination converted into a chair. There it was that Madgy Figgy, one of the most celebrated of the St Levan and Burian witches, was in the habit of seating herself when she desired to call up to her aid the spirits of the storm. Often has she been seen swinging herself to and fro on this dizzy height when a storm has been coming home upon the shores, and richly-laden vessels have been struggling with the winds. From this spot she poured forth her imprecations on man and beast, and none whom she had offended could escape those withering spells; and from this "chair", which will ever bear her name, Madgy Figgy would always take her flight. Often, starting like some huge bird, mounted on a stem of ragwort, Figgy has headed a band of inferior witches, and gone off rejoicing in their iniquities to Wales or Spain.

This old hag lived in a cottage not far from Raftra, and she and all her gang, which appears to have been a pretty numerous crew, were notorious wreckers. On one occasion, Madgy from her seat of storms lured a Portuguese Indiaman into Perloe Cove, and drowned all the passengers. As they were washed on shore, the bodies were stripped of everything valuable, and buried by Figgy and her husband in the green hollow, which may yet be seen just above Perloe Cove, marking the graves with a rough stone placed at the head of the corpse. The spoils of this occasion must have been large, for all the women were supplied for years with rich dresses, and costly jewels were seen decking the red arms of the girls who laboured in the fields. For a long time gems and gold continued to be found on the sands. Howbeit, amongst the bodies thrown ashore was one of a lady richly dressed, with chains of gold about her. "Rich and rare were the gems she wore," and not only so, but valuable treasure was fastened around her, she evidently hoping, if saved, to secure some of her property. This body, like all the others, was stripped; but Figgy said there was a mark on it which boded them evil, and she would not allow any of the gold or gems to be divided, as it would be sure to bring bad luck if it were separated. A dreadful quarrel ensued, 69 and bloodshed was threatened; but the diabolical old Figgy was more than a match for any of the men, and the power of her impetuous will was superior to them all.

Everything of value, therefore, belonging to this lady was gathered into a heap, and placed in a chest in Madgy Figgy's hut. They buried the Portuguese lady the same evening; and after dark a light was seen to rise from the grave, pass along the cliffs, and seat itself in Madgy's chair at Tol-Pedden. Then, after some hours, it descended, passed back again, and, entering the cottage, rested upon the chest. This curious phenomenon continued for more than three months - nightly - much to the alarm of all but Figgy, who said she knew all about it, and it would be all right in time. One day a strange-looking and strangely-attired man arrived at the cottage. Figgy's man (her husband) was at home alone. To him the stranger addressed himself by signs - he could not speak English, so he does not appear to have spoken at all - and expressed a wish to be led to the graves. Away they went, but the foreigner did not appear to require a guide. He at once selected the grave of the lady, and sitting down upon it, he gave vent to his pent-up sorrows. He sent Figgy's man away, and remained there till night, when the light arose from the grave more brilliant than ever, and proceeded directly to the hut, resting as usual on the chest, which was now covered up with old sails, and all kinds of fisherman's lumber.

The foreigner swept these things aside, and opened the chest. He selected everything belonging to the lady, refusing to take any of the other valuables. He rewarded the wreckers with costly gifts, and left them - no one knowing from whence he came or whither he went. Madgy Figgy was now truly triumphant. "One witch knows another witch, dead or living," she would say, "and the African would have been the death of us if we hadn't kept the treasure, whereas now we have good gifts, and no gainsaying 'em." Some do say they have seen the light in Madgy Figgy's chair since those times.

Cassie drew a deep breath and looked up from her book. How could a mere girl like herself even think of challenging Madgy's legacy? Of the mysterious Molly, Madgy's alleged apprentice, she had so far found no mention, but 70 anyone who could invoke the protection of Madgy's name clearly had little to fear in the West Country. She was beginning to think that Belladonna expected the impossible of her. Why, in all those years before her health began to fail, had she not used the money to come back herself and exorcise her demons? It was a mystery. She recalled the Wise Woman's words about things revealing themselves if you were vigilant and patient, and wondered if practising those virtues would eventually bring the answers she sought. Time would tell. She just hoped it would not take forever.

She thought she'd better find out what she could about the Well of St Levan, and then start reading up on Boscastle and Tintagel, in readiness for the morrow's excursion.

The well, it seemed, had started out as a Christian shrine, before pagan forces had put in their bid for a share in its benefits. Or maybe, she reflected, the records oversimplified the case, for the spring had been there already, presumably, in pre-Christian times. Whatever the facts, one reference briefly stated that at Porthchapel (meaning "chapel cove") there was the site of a ruined chapel, and St Selevan, the Celtic saint, was thought to have landed at the cove. Above the old stone steps rising up from the sandy cove was the Holy Well of St Levan, whose water was still used for baptisms. The parish church of St Levan (which Cassie and Renate had visited), owed some of its fame to St Levan's Stone, now enclosed by the churchyard. The rock that bore the saint's name was said to have been cleft by his staff, as he intoned a prophecy:

When with panniers astride, A pack horse can ride Through St Levan Stone, The world will be done.

71

But as with so much else in Cornwall, the stone had been regarded as a Holy Rock long before St Levan chanced along.

Leafing through the book, Cassie noticed a reference to Zennor. That, too, had been a favourite haunt of witches in times past, she was not surprised to discover. There was a place near Zennor where at Midsummer all the witches of the west had met, surrounded by fantastic granite formations and sites endowed with magical names. Local traditions assure us that on Midsummer Eve all the witches in Penwith gathered here, and that they lit fires on every cromlech, and in every rock basin, until the hills were alive with flame, the source claimed - and renewed their vows to those entities from whom they derived their power. Somewhere among the rock masses there was one pile remarkable amidst all the others for its size, and - being formed of cubical masses - for its square character. This was known as the Witches' Rock, on account of it being the scene of midnight rituals. The source went on to say that the rock had long since been removed, and the witches dispersed, but that the disappearance of the rock was regrettable, as anyone touching it nine times at midnight had been insured against bad luck.

"I wish…" Cassie murmured aloud to herself. "Wish what?" demanded the voice in her head, the voice of the sensible, cautious, Head Prefect Cassie she had been before coming to Cornwall. "She wishes she were still in control of the situation," she heard another voice explaining. Whose? Was she going mad? Then she remembered Jake's voice, with its soft, Cornish accent, and wanted to burst into tears. "Not here," she warned herself sternly. "Don't you dare, Cassie Miles, or I'll report you!"

Her thoughts kept tugging her in the direction of Zennor, like her mother's dog, Sheba, when she was following the scent of something. Jake again. Bother! But she relented for a moment, recalling their conversation the previous day at the pub. Partly to deflect his attention from her, partly to 72 break the uncomfortable silence, and partly because she'd wanted to know, she'd asked him about his family. But even that topic, it seemed, was fraught with complications. "I live with my Dad," he'd said. "He's a fisherman, but he's getting too old for it now, and I'm not around very much to go out on the boat with him, and lend him a hand. Bit of a disappointment, that, but what can you do? I'm not really one for the sea. It's a hard life at the best of times, and still too many drownings… I thought, you see, I'd be getting married. I didn't want to leave a widow, children…"

Cassie gulped, feeling suddenly excluded from Jake's private world, in which she'd had no place until about a week ago. "What about your mother…?" she murmured. Her eyes were fixed on his, and she was in danger of drowning, too. Why hadn't somebody warned her about this?

"My Mum's no longer with us," he said gently. "She died ten years ago. She was a schoolteacher."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Cassie blurted out.

"It's okay," he said. "I look after my Dad a bit, as he looked after me. And my Mum's sister Mab has always kept an eye on me."

Cassie's eyes widened. "The Wise Woman?" she murmured.

"The very same," said Jake, smiling at her expression. "My An Mab. Look, the real craft isn't what you think. It's a kind of earth-magic, not black magic. I haven't got the gift, but I respect it. It's amateurs and meddlers I can't abide. They make it all seem trivial and picturesque. It isn't."

Cassie's head was spinning. She closed the book, with its pictures of the weird granite rockforms around Zennor. Too many kinds of supernatural. It was 73 beginning to get to her. She hadn't felt the same since yesterday at Zennor. She was resisting Jake for the time being, because she still regarded his interest in her with a certain amount of scepticism, but she felt it was only a matter of time before that resistance crumbled. The combination of Jake and the haunting Zennor landscape had almost overwhelmed her, making her feel like a swimmer out of her depth and too far from shore. And as for what he had mentioned about a curse falling on loved ones, it was more than she could digest for the time being. The traditional Cornish witches must have been vitriolic indeed, and far too free with their curses, by the sound of it.

Well, she'd better acquaint herself with a few essential facts about Boscastle, she thought, and then she would look for a snack somewhere nearby. But as she reached for a book on the shelf, another hand did too.

XVII

"Hello, we meet again!" said a voice Cassie realised she'd heard before. She started as she recognised the Wise Woman of Marazion. Aka Jake's Aunt Mab. How was she going to retreat from an encounter she wasn't ready for yet?

Each of them made her selection, and as they were moving away from the bookstacks, the Wise Woman searched Cassie's face with her eyes. "You're troubled, aren't you, child," she said softly.

Cassie looked at her without speaking.

"Why don't you come to a tea-room I know, and let me throw your cards?" she said gently.

74

Cassie prepared to decline, then suddenly changed her mind. She might as well, maybe it would help to clear up some of her mental confusion. She didn't think it could make matters worse, at any rate.

The tea-room they went to was up a narrow, cobbled lane on the side of a hill, and upstairs above a shop that sold candles, incense burners, crystal phials and ornaments, books on the occult, Celtic jewellery, and all manner of alluring charms and symbols. Cassie made a mental note not to leave without making certain necessary purchases.

They sat at a little table in a dormer window, from which a sliver of sea was visible, and the inevitable seagulls, wheeling ceaselessly in search of food.

"Have you ever had a Tarot reading?" asked An Mab.

"No," said Cassie shyly.

"What I am going to do is a three-card reading. There are other kinds of readings, using more cards, but those can take many hours, so let's start with a simple one."

Mab took out a moist, scented, disposable towel and wiped the table-top, waited until it dried, then unwrapped a Tarot pack. She placed all the cards face-down on the table and asked Cassie to mix them up by pushing them about, then bring the deck back together and cut the cards into three piles with her left hand. Mab then placed the bottom pile on top of the middle one, and the two together on top of the first. She explained to Cassie that the left hand was used to invoke intuition, in keeping with beliefs about the left side of the body, whereas on the right side reason was dominant, and the right hand was therefore used to turn over the cards for the reading.

75

There was a candle on the table, which Mab lit. She asked Cassie to look into the candle flame until she felt quite clear about the nature of her question. The question quickly phrased itself as "Will I find the way?"

Taking three cards from the top of the pack, Mab laid them out, face up.

"These cards signify aspects of your past, your present and your future," she explained to Cassie.

"In your recent past we see the Chariot. This card has implications of struggle and triumph against the odds. It can denote prestige and wealth through sustained effort. It also indicates unexpected news by word of mouth, and fast, luxurious travel."

Cassie thought about how hard she had worked to become School Captain and Dux. Perhaps that was what you could call struggle and triumph against the odds, because it certainly hadn't come easily. But struggle against the odds was not exactly a thing of the past - not yet. The unexpected news by word of mouth also struck a chord. Her mother's announcement about the terms of Belladonna's will had come as a bolt from the blue. Quickly followed by fast, if not particularly luxurious, travel. Although a flight to England would be considered a luxury by plenty of people she knew.

Mab was watching her reaction. Cassie nodded. "That sounds right."

"There is something else you might want to know about the Chariot," Mab added. "Notice the two sphinxes drawing the Chariot. One is black, the other white. They symbolise life's problems and contradictions. The charioteer may still need to resolve key issues that are a source of tension. She may be holding her life together through sheer will-power. She also possesses confidence and a strong personality, which come to her aid in trying to 76 resolve contradictory situations. But few people are able to discern the charioteer's true nature, because she conceals it behind a credible mask. Sometimes she even convinces herself that the mask is her true identity…"

Cassie's face registered embarrassed recognition, as if she had been caught with her guard down, but she made no comment.

"Shall I go on to the next card?"

Cassie nodded.

"This one sheds light on your present situation. The card we see here represents Strength, which you will need to confront the challenges that surround you… However, it may surprise you to know that Strength acts as a counter to the Chariot. Only when we give up control can we discover our inner strength, manifested through gentle persuasion instead of forceful personality."

Cassie gazed at the image on the card. It showed a woman with a lion, and above the woman's head a figure 8 turned on its side.

Mab anticipated Cassie's unspoken question. "That's the symbol of infinity above her head. It suggests inner calm and firmness of purpose without aggression. She needs Strength to give up the Chariot's focus on outer success and turn inward toward self-discovery and surrender. The lion is interesting, too. It does not have to mean enemies. It can also symbolise strong emotions or intense desires. The lion represents all the aspects of ourselves that we suppress or deny. In the present case, we can take this card as reassurance that you are able to do whatever needs to be done. You will find the strength you need if you seek within."

77

Cassie listened to Mab's words as if they were some kind of mantra. She was finding the reading fascinating.

"The next card," Mab continued gently, in her low-pitched, soothing voice, "is the Star. The Star represents calm after storm, a place of hope and healing. The Star maiden holds two vessels of water, which she pours out freely, in a symbolic gesture of giving life to the world. The Star evokes Demeter's daughter, Persephone, whose annual return from the underworld brings the flowering of love and hope - in other words, renewal. This card in your reading signifies hope, optimism and bright prospects. Its presence portends calm and confidence in the future. In the aftermath of a crisis, the Star promises release and new life."

Mab looked across at Cassie and smiled. "Do you have any questions?"

Cassie shook her head. Mab ordered a pot of tea.

While they were drinking their tea, Mab talked about general things - the pleasures of taking a trip to the Scilly Isles in spring, and some of the coming festivities associated with Christmas and New Year, such as the lights at Mousehole, which local people would go to see.

Before they went their separate ways, Cassie thanked her again. Mab squeezed her hand. "You feel a little better now, don't you?" she said.

"Yes, I really do!" agreed Cassie.

"The Star reflecting your future outcomes is a fortunate, bountiful card. You must, as I said, believe in yourself, and be of good faith. Benevolent forces are there when you need them, so call on them, and repudiate fear. Fear is the greatest enemy of all. But overcome fear, and you will find joy." 78

She patted Cassie's hand, holding her gaze for a moment, gathered her cards and was gone. She had checked out the books she wanted, but Cassie, as a visitor, had no borrowing privileges, so had planned to return to the library.

Remembering that she had some important purchases to make first, she stopped off at the shop downstairs. After some deliberation, she bought a crystal phial with a stopper, and an incense burner, as well as some tablets of incense.

Now she was having second thoughts about going back to the library. The walk home along the esplanade in the bracing sea air would do her more good, she decided. She felt calmer after the brief interlude with Mab, and her step was light as she entered Gwen's gate.

Gwen was out, but there was an envelope on the hall table with Cassie's name on it, and inside it a scrap of amethyst velvet, and inside the velvet, a silver hare. She held it in her palm, admiring the workmanship. There was no message, but it was obviously some kind of charm, and there were no prizes for guessing who from. She pressed it to her lips, then blushed as if someone had been watching. She was going to need all the good luck she could get, so she hoped the hare was loaded with it!

It was only then that she noticed another envelope addressed to her, with an Australian stamp on it. It looked like Sophie's writing. That was quick! She tore it open, read the first few sentences, and groaned.

What a dill you are! Sophie had begun. Sending me a letter that starts "Dear Mum"! I guess your mum got all the interesting news that was sposed to come to me, cause the stuff I got was really boring!

79

Cassie sat at the table by the front window to catch the last of the afternoon light, propped her chin on her hand and read further.

Well, I hope you won't be jealous, but things have been happening since you left, and now I'm going out with Tim Riley. What a hunk! You don't know what you're missing, Cassie chick!

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but the thought did cross her mind that she'd a thousand times rather be in Cornwall than dangling round after silly Sophie. But what would her mum have made of the letter to Sophie?

XVIII

When she opened her eyes early the next morning, Cassie decided that for just one day she would be a tourist. She promised herself not to think about Belladonna, or Mab, nor even about Jake. Nothing but sightseeing today, and then tomorrow she'd start making plans.

But these intentions lasted only as far as the Museum of Witchcraft, where the objects and information revealed to her astonished gaze made her search her bag for a notebook and pencil, and start scribbling furiously. Why, oh why was the museum visit so short, she wondered. She needed days in here, but in fact it would only be open by special appointment from now until the end of winter. She hadn't realised that, when she booked to come on the excursion. More and more, she was getting the feeling that in coming to Cornwall, she had bitten off far more than she could chew. But it would serve no purpose to entertain such sneakily subversive thoughts. School Captain Cassandra Miles would have to be dusted off and put in charge again, she could see.

80

So, let's get started, she thought, consulting the museum's directory: cursing and curses. This dubious branch of the craft predictably occupied a whole section of the museum. There were examples of Poppets, the dolls used in both cursing and healing. So it was true about sticking pins in them! There were various charms for reversing curses, too. Cassie's hand strayed to her pocket, where she carried the little pouch of herbs the Wise Woman had given her, together with the silver hare, which she had not yet had a chance to thank Jake for. She had thought of phoning him, but shyness or some other kind of inexplicable reluctance had made her postpone contact. She stopped in front of an exhibit which offered some practical advice on reversing a curse:

Take the heart of a sheep or bullock and stick it full with pins, cast it on an open fire whilst reciting: "It is not this heart I wish to burn But (the person's) heart I wish to turn, Wishing (them) neither rest nor peace."

At least Belladonna's instructions had spared her this grisly ritual, possibly because the person in question was no longer around to have her heart turned. But that didn't seem to make matters any easier. On the contrary! Near this exhibit was a room housing a lifelike effigy of a Pellar, or Wise Woman, at work, surrounded by dried herbs and dessicated parts of small animals and birds, and various fetishes and implements for brewing and divining. A recording of a voice reciting spells issued from the room.

Fascinated, Cassie stopped to listen. It brought back childhood memories. Yes - she could remember Belladonna reciting similar things, but she had never realised they were charms or spells! Cassie had assumed they were old Cornish nursery rhymes. Belladonna had been reciting spells, too, and not prayers, as the family had assumed, during the last few days of her life, Cassie was now certain. Her great-aunt had really, really believed in all of 81 this. It was not difficult to understand why. If she had been brought up in Cornwall a hundred years earlier, Cassie was pretty certain that she'd have believed in it, too. But as it was, she definitely felt like one of the uninitiated, and she wouldn't mind staying that way. Cornwall was steeped in magic, she could feel it strongly, and she thought you'd have to be a pachyderm not to. But the magic was for those who were part of that tradition, and for all her Cornish blood, Cassie's Australian upbringing had diluted her susceptibility to it, or something. Or so her thoughts ran.

Until she saw the hares, and gave a little involuntary start of recognition. There were various representations of hares, accompanied by rhymes and incantations, in a section of the museum devoted to shape-shifting. Cassie had never heard of this phenomenon before. But then, every day here she was coming across things she'd never heard of before. "Shape-shifting" was a process of magical transformation from one kind of creature to another. Usually, it meant that witches turned themselves into hares, and back again. It seemed that some witches could do this by reciting spells, which had to be repeated three times before they would take effect. One shape-shifting spell, many centuries old, was quoted in the exhibit:

I shall go into a hare, With sorrow and sych and meikle care; And I shall go in the Devil's name Ay while I come home again.

When the woman who had taken the shape of a hare wished to return to human form, she somehow had to recite another spell, such as:

Hare, hare, God send thee care. I am in a hare's likeness just now, But I shall be in a woman's likeness even now. 82

Cassie wondered why women should wish to turn into hares, and why hares in particular, and not some other animal. The practice was said to date back many centuries, so perhaps it was a way of escaping persecution. The West Country, including Cornwall, abounded with stories of hares disappearing after being shot, and old women being found soon after with gunshot wounds.

According to the information that formed part of the display, in Northern Europe the hare had been sacred to the Spring Goddess Eostre, or Ostara. But why had Jake chosen to make her a silver charm in the form of a hare? So that she could elude predators? Apart from the shadowy figure of the Balaclava Man, who seemed to have made himself scarce again, she wasn't aware of any, but perhaps it was a kind of insurance, just in case…

Glancing around, Cassie noticed that the crowd from the coach she had come on had dispersed, and she was the only person left in this part of the museum. She glanced at her watch and rushed for the exit. What if she'd been left behind? But the coach was still in the carpark, its engine running. The door opened as she approached, and all the other passengers glared at her accusingly. "One more minute, miss, and you'd have been too late," remarked the driver, already changing gear as they pulled out.

She sank into her seat, red-faced but not exactly repentant. The couple of hours in the museum had been time well spent. She thrust her fingers into her pocket to check that the little silver hare was still there.

83

XIX

Cassie woke with a jolt as someone pushed past her on the aisle side, jogging her elbow roughly. She must have dozed off after leaving Boscastle, and now they were at Tintagel.

She had been the last back on the bus in Boscastle, and now she was the last off, but that didn't matter, she felt the day had already bestowed enough gifts on her. But she was mistaken. The day had more in store for her to marvel at. She stumbled in the wake of the other day-trippers, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She could hear the sea again, a background to their chatter. She put her hand in her pocket to touch the silver hare, still wondering exactly what Jake had had in mind as he fashioned it in the workshop. Or did he mass-produce such charms to sell to all and sundry? Feeling ashamed of the cynical thought, she followed the tail of the party along the path, which suddenly opened out to a vista of a small cove, with a hulking headland looming above it. This was Tintagel, according to tradition the site of King Arthur's castle, the haunt of the Knights of the Round Table and Queen Guinevere: the home of legendary chivalry.

Suddenly she wished Jake and Renate were with her - her new friends, not the old ones… She was surprised at how soon old allegiances seemed to fade. But then Sophie Walker was not too strong on old allegiances, either. Cassie couldn't exactly call her trustworthy. She did, however, feel a pang of guilt about not keeping in more frequent touch with her mother, although she'd called her a few days ago (it seemed like weeks) from Gwen's place, just to let her know that everything was all right. Bit of an oversimplification, that, she thought to herself, but how could she explain to her mother what she didn't yet understand herself?

84

But here she was now at Tintagel - alone - so she should just make the most of it. She had slowed to a snail's pace as she climbed the timber walkway to the headland, more because she needed some moments to think, to make mental contact with people she thought of as friends, than for any other reason. Now that she had reached the top, she was blown away by the view. Pure Coleridge! she thought. Wild, timeless, inspiring. It reminded her of "Kubla Khan":

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree; Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

For there, to one side of the headland where it joined the mainland, was a chasm with a little rill trickling into the sea, and the breathtakingly romantic Cornish coastline, where the Atlantic met the cliffs in exclamations and flourishes of spray, stretching away in both directions until its outlines dissolved in haze. Coleridge must have been here, she thought. After all, he'd lived in Devon, the next county, and there was much in his poems of the West Country spirit, she could now see.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

To Cassie's eager eyes, Tintagel seemed as much pure Coleridge as it did pure Cornish - even though the mystique of this place had far more ancient origins. She'd like to talk to Jake about it - he'd probably know if the poet had been 85 acquainted with the place. When Jake had said he was interested in history, he'd really meant it. Although she'd spent relatively little time with him, she had noticed he knew lots about this part of England: folklore, facts and poetry included. He had told her, for instance, about Dumnonia, the ancient kingdom of Devon and Cornwall, which had been trading with Spain and other Mediterranean countries after the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. Amphorae which had once contained wine and oil from Cadiz and Malaga had been excavated here, at Tintagel. And Cassie was sure, too, that Jake's An Mab had not neglected what she had once seen described in an old- fashioned source as his "sentimental education".

She tried to imagine what life on this headland might have been like many centuries before. The site was majestic, but it was cold and windswept, too, and although there was little left of the buildings apart from foundations, she thought they would probably have been high-walled and dark, with high, narrow windows to secure them against wild weather and marauders. According to some of the information displayed for visitors' benefit, there had, it was thought, also been walled gardens. (And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,/ Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, ran her thoughts, invoking Coleridge again). So the ladies of King Arthur's court must have frequented the sheltered courtyards on mild, sunny days, and perhaps they had even been entertained by a damsel with a dulcimer.

Now there was something melancholy about the place, blurred as it was, both geologically and architecturally, by the passage of time from myth to fragmentary present-day reality. Cassie wondered how the fair ladies had passed the time on inclement days, which could have been most of the year. Did they embroider by the fireplace? Did they wait, like the wives of heroes in antiquity, for their lords to return from battle? Did they die in childbirth, or succumb to illness because of their delicate constitutions? Had they lived like birds of paradise in stone cages, protected for their own sake, but not exactly 86 joyful? What was this thing called chivalry, really? Had it existed at Tintagel? Many people apart from Cassie would have liked to know these things, but it was all too long ago, and the evidence was inconclusive.

The area on top of the headland was unexpectedly extensive, and there were places on the seaward side where Cassie was reminded of her experience with Renate at the blowhole near St Levan. The headland ended in sickeningly precipitous drops, and she sat down and inched closer to the edge to peer over, down to the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, afraid that if she remained on her feet the gusts of wind might throw her off balance.

On the side sheltered from the wind, where the rill flowed into a little cove, people had gathered below on the beach to watch a seal that had surfaced between a small, rocky islet close to the shore, little bigger than a knoll, and the headland. The seal's head and neck were visible above the water, and the animal seemed to be enjoying the onlookers' attention, because it made no attempt to submerge. "Guardian spirit," thought Cassie involuntarily. The seal seemed completely at home here. As she watched the seal, she became aware of being watched. She turned her head in time to see a young man turn away from her, as if to avoid being caught in the act of observing her. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she couldn't quite place him.

XX

The next morning, as soon as Gwen had set off for the charity shop where she worked as a volunteer, Cassie swung into action. Although Gwen had not said as much, Cassie sensed that she had gone from being an object of approval to a somewhat dodgy character in her landlady's estimation, and she didn't want to contribute further to that negative impression if she could 87 possibly avoid it, so she waited until the coast was clear before making her phone call to Jake.

She had had her recurrent dream again the night before. Belladonna had appeared at her bedside to admonish her. "Cassandra," she had said, "have you forgotten your promise?"

Now Cassie had come up with a plan. She had reached the point where she was needy enough to swallow her pride and ask Jake for help. But she was none too confident that he would be willing to give it. Still, it was worth a try, and she had to do something. Once Belladonna's shade had been placated, maybe Cassie could concentrate on enjoying the rest of her holiday. Such were her thoughts and feelings as she dialled Jake's mobile number.

When he answered, his voice sounded subdued, and Cassie's courage almost failed her. "Is anything the matter?" she asked. "Have I phoned at a bad time?"

"It's never a bad time for you to phone me," he said, with a ghost of his old banter. "But to tell you the truth, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I thought you'd left town…"

"Meaning?"

"Yesterday. I was trying to contact you all day, but there was no answer…"

Cassie suddenly blushed at her own thoughtlessness, glad he couldn't see her. "Oh, Jake!" she said, "forgive me for not thanking you for the silver hare! It's beautiful! I wanted to tell you that in person, in fact I almost believed I had, but I'm getting so muddled about time since I've been here…"

"It's okay, Cassandra," he said, sounding more relaxed. "So you like it?" 88

"Oh, yes! And when I was at the Museum of Witchcraft in Boscastle yesterday, I saw lots of stuff about shape-shifting… and hares… so I wondered if my hare was related to…"

"Those? Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out. But I don't think your hare is going to do any shape-shifting!"

"Meaning?"

"You are persistent, aren't you? Meaning, your silver hare is not about to metamorphose into a silver witch, but I do hope it will give you some added protection, symbolically speaking."

"From what?"

"Who knows? I was worried sick about you yesterday, by the way. I didn't know where you were, your landlady wasn't answering the phone…"

"But why were you worried about me? I was perfectly safe."

"Well, I didn't know that, did I? And another woman was almost attacked last night."

"Where?"

"Near Tintagel. A long way from here, but still…"

Cassie gasped.

"Did you say something?" Jake sounded alarmed. 89

"No."

Cassie had suddenly realised why the young man at Tintagel had looked vaguely familiar. She had noticed him once before, on the bus to Land's End, the same bus where she had first noticed Renate. But that didn't mean there was any connection.

"Are you still there?" Jake had to ask twice before she answered.

"Sorry," said Cassie hastily. "I just remembered something."

"Where are you now?" he said. "At Gwen's place?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming over. We can go somewhere for coffee, and you can tell me what's on your mind."

"I'd like that," Cassie said, rather faintly. "See you in half an hour?"

"Less. I'm at Marazion. Bye."

As she hung up the phone, she jumped at a sudden noise at the front door, but it was only the postman, pushing the mail through the metal slot. One letter, with a London postmark, was addressed to her.

"Renate!" she said aloud.

90

She opened the envelope excitedly. It contained a hand-painted postcard and a thin, tissue-wrapped something. She couldn't decide which to look at first, so she read the card.

Cassie, I am fine! And you? I haven't heard from you. Is everything ok? What about Jake? Did you go to Zennor? What is it like? I wanted to go there too, but maybe another time. I've been doing lots of painting, using sketches I made in Cornwall. I have finished six more, and they are good, so I'll put them in a group exhibition back in Marburg. I go there tomorrow, to spend Christmas and New Year, and then I will return to London for six months. Here is my address in Germany. (Please write - I miss you!) Love, Renate

Cassie unwrapped the mulberry-coloured tissue paper, and smiled in recognition. It contained a silver charm - a pentacle. How sweet of Renate to think of her! It could keep the hare company, nestled in the little pouch of herbs that Mab had given her.

Jake must have practically flown from Marazion, because she could hear his motorcycle roaring up the hill. She did a quick check in the hall-stand mirror. Her eyes were glowing. Trying to tell her something. "I don't want to know," she told them firmly. But she didn't mean it.

XXI

Seated across the small café table from Jake, she realised she'd been here once before, with An Mab, but decided not to mention it. She was still a little wary of the nature of the alliance between Jake and Mab. She didn't want to fall 91 under their collective spell - the individual ones were almost more than she could handle, as it was!

"Now, young Cassandra, what can I do for you?" asked Jake breezily.

"Well," she began, "I was wondering if you could make me a charm for Renate, as a Christmas present. It's a commission," she added hastily.

"Another hare?" he suggested smoothly.

"No, not a hare," she said, a bit too emphatically.

"How about a mermaid, like the one at Zennor?" he suggested.

"Perfect!" she agreed. "Renate really wanted to go to Zennor!"

"Consider it done. Give me a couple of days. And now," he said pleasantly, adopting the professional manner of a good physician, "would you like to tell me what this meeting is really about?"

"Well," she replied, plunging in at last, "I have some urgent business to attend to for my great-aunt, and I think I need your help."

"What is the business, if it isn't a rude question, and how can I help?"

"I can't tell you about the business," she said, embarrassed, "but I can tell you how you might be able to help…"

Jake's eyebrows had risen somewhat at her words, but his tone remained even as he replied. "And how might that be?"

92

"Well, I need to be at the Well of St Levan just before sunrise tomorrow. I - suppose I could take a taxi, it's not a question of money, but…"

"No, don't use a taxi. I'd be glad to take you. We'd need to leave at about five, though."

"Can I meet you at the bottom of the hill? I don't want to alarm Gwen. She already thinks I'm a bit of a dodgy character."

"As you wish. But is that all you wanted to ask me?"

"No. There's more." She paused to drink her coffee, and consider her next words.

Jake regarded her steadily. She met his eyes and blushed at the warmth in them. She didn't feel worthy of such devotion. Mainly because she wasn't sure how reciprocal it was. She hated the idea of being tied down, she needed to feel sure that she would always have room to move, space to breathe. But at the same time, something in her was grateful for Jake's protection. And for Jake. "You can't expect to have it both ways," she admonished herself crossly. Now, where was she?

"I need to be at the Merry Maidens at sunset on the same day."

"Easy," he said. "What shall we do in between? Would you like to come to the workshop and watch me make Renate's charm?"

"Fine," she said. "I'd like that." And realised she meant it.

"So, that's it?" he asked.

93

"No, there's one other thing. I'll tell you at the workshop."

"I shall be all ears," he assured her, teasing.

They rose to go. He took her arm. She let him. She was sorry when the short ride back to Newlyn ended. After dismounting from the bike, she hugged him quickly. "Thank you for everything," she said. "See you tomorrow at five!" She ran inside and flung herself on her bed. "What have I done? What's happening?" she asked the ceiling.

XXII

The ride to St Levan through lanes where birds were piping their morning greetings into frosty air was magical. Cassie realised that she had secretly been looking forward to riding pillion with Jake again. She also realised she had missed his physical proximity. At a wild guess, she'd say he'd also missed hers. But she forced herself to clear her mind for more immediate purposes.

Not a soul was stirring in St Levan at that hour. They made their way quietly past the church and down towards the well. Cassie had explained to Jake that she had to be alone at the well, so he found a slab of granite to sit on and wait.

It was light enough to see her way, and soon it would be dawn. From her bag she took the crystal phial for spring-water that she had bought after the Tarot reading, in readiness. Pacing in a circle round the well, she recited the brief incantation Belladonna had included in her instructions. She cleansed her face and hands in the icy trickle from the spring, then stood facing the east, where light was seeping across the horizon.

As the sun's first wintry rays swept into view, she recited the mantra again, and filled the phial with water, holding it up to catch the beams of light. To 94 her surprise, she felt purified by the ritual, whereas she had expected to feel rather foolish.

She stayed a little longer, watching the light steal across the sea to the land, then wrapped her phial carefully in a silk scarf and nestled it in her bag. Jake was waiting on the other side of the rise that hid them from each other's view. She nodded in reply to his raised eyebrows. "All set," she said. "But I still have to find Madgy's Chair."

"And why would you be wanting to do that?" he asked, watching her closely.

"I have my reasons," Cassie said, "but I can't tell you just yet."

"I see," he said non-committally. "Then come this way."

They retraced her steps towards the well, then veered off towards the cliff- tops. They skirted the blowhole, hearing its hollow boom, but not stopping to view its depths. Cassie had been on the right track about Madgy Figgy's Chair. It was a similar formation to the one she had seen, but farther along the coast. They had walked quickly, and mostly in silence, and both were slightly breathless from the exertion. Cassie eyed the chair apprehensively. "And do you mean to tell me an old woman could scramble up there, and sit on top of it in a howling gale?" she asked incredulously. "Why, I don't think I could do that myself!"

"Why would you want to?" asked Jake quizzically.

"I might not want to," said Cassie, "but then again I might need to."

"Don't be suicidal," said Jake briskly. "I know you're a sensible girl, so why not act like one. Now come on, I've got work to do, remember?" 95

They made their way back to the bike, stopping to enter the church where Cassie and Renate had taken shelter on her previous visit to St Levan.

"I liked the church at Zennor better," she said shyly. "this one has a gloomy feel to it."

"I know what you mean," Jake said. "And yet architecturally they're closely related."

They rode to Land's End through sparkling morning light, and took their coffee out onto the rocks to gaze at the sea as they sipped it. It was an idyllic moment. "Pity to have to work indoors on such a day," Jake commented, breaking the silence. "But we can go for a walk along the cliffs later, if you like."

"I could go by myself, if you're busy," said Cassie.

"No," he said. "Not without me. Don't even think of it."

Remembering why, she replied hastily. "Oh, of course not. I'll wait for you then."

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" he said.

"Nothing," said Cassie. "It wasn't important."

"You've changed your mind?"

"Yes, I've changed my mind," she replied. It obviously wouldn't do to involve Jake in the third part of her ritual, which involved a pre-dawn visit to 96

Madgy's Chair. He would probably try to stop her, or insist on accompanying her. And then all her efforts to date would amount to nothing. Yet the thought of going it alone was frankly terrifying. But she would just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

They went in to the workshop. It was still very early, and the others hadn't arrived yet. Cassie watched Jake set up his work-bench, suddenly feeling drowsy in spite of the coffee.

"There's a sofa out the back," said Jake. "Why don't you catch up on some sleep? There's loads of time before we have to leave for the Merry Maidens."

Cassie didn't resist. She lay down and let Jake tuck a blanket around her, then went out like a light. When she opened her eyes, he was sitting nearby in an armchair, drinking a mug of coffee.

"That smells good," she said.

"There's some for you in the pot. Shall I get it? And some fresh scones with jam and cream."

He got up and returned with a tray.

"You're so good to me," she said. "Why?"

"Can't help it, Cass," he said. "You've taken me by storm, cool little sensible person that you are."

"Oh stop it, will you?" she said, "I'll choke on my scone!"

"Do you know what time it is?" he said. 97

"Eleven? Twelve?"

"Three in the afternoon. You've been asleep six hours. We have to leave soon if you want to be at the Merry Maidens by sunset. Within the next half hour, anyway."

Cassie looked at Jake, and suppressed a desire to embrace him, hug him tightly. What if she did, she wondered. What would happen?

He looked back at her. "Yes, I know," he said. "Me too, but there's no time for that. You've got some things to sort out for your aunt, remember?"

Cassie was startled, but not surprised to learn that he could read her thoughts. Some of the time at least. It could be a problem, in view of her plans for a little excursion to Madgy's Chair.

"Come and see something before we go," he said. He led the way into the workshop, and showed her a small, exquisite wax model of a mermaid. "It has to be cast from a mould, a matrix," he explained. "She's really lovely," she said. "Renate will love her. Thank you. It's just brilliant. You're really talented."

"No, just inspired," he said teasingly. "Doesn't she remind you of anyone?"

Cassie looked again, more closely, and blushed. The mermaid was herself in miniature.

98

XXIII

They rode through lanes between hedges again, lit by a lowering sun. If the weather stayed clear, Cassie thought, it would make the last part of her task easier the following morning, before dawn. There would be a moon, so she hoped there would be no clouds to obscure its light.

The Merry Maidens was a stone circle somewhat similar to Boscawen, where she had met Renate, in that it consisted of nineteen stones, but unlike Boscawen, the Merry Maidens were exposed to view on an open meadow. The stones, too, were lower, whether by design or because they had subsided into the earth she could not tell. Cassie asked Jake to wait for her in a nearby lane which hid the stones from view. Before she left him, she said, "I hope you understand I'm not trying to exclude you. I'm just following instructions."

"I had gathered as much," he said. "But just you be careful. There are physical as well as metaphysical dangers when you embark on journeys into the unknown."

Cassie approached the stones, haloed by the descending sun. She asked permission of the guardian spirits before entering the circle, then quickly but carefully assembled an offering before the sun disappeared. It included a candle, which she lit, to symbolise fire; the phial of spring-water from St Levan, the second of the elements; incense in a small brass burner, which she lit to symbolise air, representing the third of the four elements, and the pentacle from Renate, representing earth. To these she added some hawthorn berries on twigs, plucked from a hedgerow at St Levan that morning, as the traditional seasonal token required as part of such offerings. There was no breeze, for which she was thankful, and the candle burned steadily as she invoked the spirits of place. "Fire, water, air, earth - benign spirits, do you hear?" 99

Cassie repeated the incantation three times, eyes focused on the candle flame, then rose from her kneeling position and, taking the phial of water, wove her way in and out of the standing stones in a clockwise direction, anointing each of the Merry Maidens with a drop of it as she continued the incantation her aunt's letter had contained. Reversing her movements, she continued her chant, before returning to the centre of the stone circle. The sun aimed darts of light at the offering through gaps in the stones. Cassie remained motionless, intoning the blessing with which she had commenced the ritual, but with the order of lines reversed. "Benign spirits, do you hear? Earth! Air! Water! Fire!" On the third repetition, the sun suddenly slipped from view. Cassie, awed by the synchronicity, extinguished the candle and poured a few drops of water on the tablet of incense to douse it. It was as if she were truly in harmony with the forces of nature and spirits of place, just for that split second. She sat back on her heels for a few minutes, but it was rapidly growing colder, and an evening breeze was stirring.

She carefully gathered the objects laid out as an offering, and went to find Jake.

"Everything okay?" he asked casually.

"Yes," she said, "just perfect."

"So now you've paid your aunt's karmic debts?" he said.

"If only!" sighed Cassie. "But I'm afraid not quite."

"Well, if there's any way I can be of assistance…"

100

"I wish there were," said Cassie. "You've been so helpful already. I don't know how I'd have managed without you today. It would have been so much harder. But I have to do the rest by myself."

That night, Cassie couldn't sleep. It had been such an extraordinary day. She reflected on her experience in the stone circle, which had made a profound impression on her. She tried to recall some of the details she had read - that the quartz crystal that was such a noticeable feature of the stones at Boscawen was identified by ancient peoples with the moon; that the stones were attributed with gender - male and female, according to their shape. The female stones were roughly triangular, with the narrow tip at the top - a bit like an Isosceles triangle in geometry - while the male stones were more or less oblong.

She had read that the stone circles were thought to have been associated with virtually every phase and function of human existence in Megalithic times, from ancestor worship, ritual sacrifice (human as well as animal), death, burial and the afterlife, to fertility, lunar and tidal cycles and other calendar functions, astronomy and shamanism. The stone circles had been at the very centre of their community's spiritual life, and in more recent times had been integrated into the rituals of witchcraft and revivals of paganism. They were sacred sites invested with immense significance, revered as fields of intense spiritual energy. She had sensed all this today, absorbed it through her pores.

She realised, too, that she was already missing Jake, although it was only a few hours since they'd parted. Something about the events of the day had brought them closer together, removing her uncertainties and making her realise the significance of what she had almost unthinkingly thrown away.

101

XXIV

Cassie slept fitfully and rose at the first signal from her small, quiet alarm at three a.m. She dressed in darkness, so as not to wake Gwen, who slept upstairs, then carefully took the vanity case containing Belladonna's casket out of a drawer, put on her coat, gloves and scarf, and let herself out of the house as quietly as she could. Before doing so, she popped the note she had written the night before on the hall-stand. Rather than have to answer Gwen's questions, she'd said nothing to her the previous night about the excursion she'd planned for today.

She slipped down the hill in front of Gwen's house like a shadow, to the red British Telecom booth at the bottom. The number for taxis was tucked into one of her gloves on a slip of paper. She dialled it nervously, hoping that someone would answer. Eventually, a sleepy voice did. "Where did you say, love? St Levan? Right, I'll have somebody there in fifteen minutes. Sit tight."

While she was waiting for the taxi, she sat on a bench by the phone-booth and watched the sea-mist swirling around the breakwater, wreathing the boats in the port in thin scarves, perpetually shifting and changing form like the dance of the wilis she'd seen in "Ondine," one birthday night at the ballet. "Shape- shifting," she thought involuntarily, and put her hand in her pocket to make sure the silver hare was still there. She thought wistfully of Jake, and wished he could have accompanied her on this journey she wished she didn't have to make, at least not alone.

But she felt constrained to carry out Belladonna's instructions to the letter, and that did mean going it alone. She mentally recited the lines Belladonna had scripted for this occasion, to make sure she remembered them. She had brought the letter too, just in case, but thought it would probably work better if she did not have to read from a script when the time came. Besides, there 102 was the casket to deal with, and she had no idea how she would manage to scale the chair, recite the spell, and dispose of the casket's contents without breaking her neck, or at the very least having some minor glitches to contend with.

The headlights of the taxi appeared through the light mist drifting across the road. The back door swung open, and Cassie got in, thinking it strange that the driver had not greeted her first. No sooner was she was seated and had closed the door, than he had the car in gear and had taken off at some speed. "St Levan, you said, miss?" came his muffled voice from the front.

"Yes, please," she replied, wondering why he seemed so surly. It was on account of having to be awake and driving at three in the morning, she supposed. That might also explain why he was so rugged up. It must get freezing, sitting in a taxi, waiting for the night-owls of the trade. He was wearing a cap pulled low over his eyes, and a scarf pulled up over the lower part of his face. Since he obviously wasn't the communicative type, Cassie was quite content to mentally rehearse the final stage of Operation Belladonna, as she had come to think of it.

Thank goodness she had brought a torch. Her first concern would be to avoid falling down the blowhole. And she'd worn her running shoes, hoping they'd help to give her a grip on the rock, though she wasn't at all sure about the technicalities of that. Who'd have thought, back in Australia, when she'd first heard of Madgy's Chair, that it would turn out to be something only a seagull would want to sit on!

As they whirled along dark, silent roads between hedges, she caught occasional glimpses of lonely lights, away in the translucent mist, across fields. She imagined sleepy farmers trundling out of bed, pulling on their wellies ready to go and milk the cows. Thanks to the driver's rather reckless 103 speed, they reached St Levan earlier than expected, but that was all to the good, she thought. She would reach the Chair in plenty of time.

She thanked the driver and paid the fare. As he turned to take the money, she had a feeling she'd seen him somewhere before, but dismissed it. There were far more urgent matters to attend to. She noticed that he didn't drive off immediately, but the glow of a cigarette behind the windscreen seemed to indicate he was taking a break before returning to Penzance. She hadn't asked him to wait, not knowing exactly how long she would need, and mindful of the extra expense. She planned to catch the bus back at nine, the same one as she'd once come on with Renate.

Soon the undulations of the land hid St Levan from view, as she took the now-familiar path that led past the church towards the well. There was a light mist hovering above the earth, so that although there was a moon, its halo was enormous and diffuse, as if seen through a veil, and the light that filtered through was feeble. Cassie switched on her torch to help her pick out the path. She veered off it below the well, and began the more laborious uphill stretch, listening for the blowhole.

As the hollow boom grew more distinct, she heard a sharper, more staccato sound some distance behind her, as if a stone had been dislodged and bounced away downhill. She gave herself a little shake. It could have been anything: a fox out hunting, or some other animal - even a hare, she thought, smiling to herself in the dark. The red light on top of the Coastguard station loomed out of the fog up ahead. She had to go some distance beyond it to find Madgy's Chair. Her main concern now was that she'd miss it in the dark. As long as she could locate it, it would be alright, she thought. Well, not exactly alright, but she'd worry about that when she came to it.

104

As she passed the Coastguard station, she peered through the mist, trying to discern if there was anybody there, behind the plate-glass observation windows, but all she could see was an indistinct blur of light. As the land ascended slightly higher and she approached the cliffs' edge, the mist began to thin, dispersed by gusts of sea-breeze. The darkness had become less impenetrable, too. Dawn was not far away. She kept shining her torch seawards, trying to locate the outline of Madgy's Chair. Afraid she might have overshot the mark, she retraced her steps several times before she was able to identify it. As she had anticipated, it looked even more awesome by night than by day.

Cassie sat on a flat rock immediately opposite, catching her breath and marshalling her courage for the next part. After a few minutes, she took the vanity case containing Belladonna's casket, placed it beside her on the rock, and unlocked it. The casket was sealed all around with wax. She took out the lighter she had used for the incense at the Merry Maidens and held the flame close enough to the wax to melt it. She had to position her body to shelter the flame from the gusts of wind, which were stiffening and becoming more frequent. At least this meant that visibility was gradually improving, but nevertheless she glanced anxiously at the sky beyond Madgy's Chair. It wouldn't do for it to become light too quickly.

There was still a residue of wax around the line where the lid fitted into the rim of the casket, but she thought she would be able to prise it off fairly easily at the opportune moment. Holding the casket in both hands, she rose and faced the pinnacle of rock known as Madgy's Chair, addressing Belladonna's final mantra to it. It was a solemn moment, and she was conscious of its gravity. Then, very carefully, so as not to slip or lose her balance, she approached the base of Madgy's Chair, still holding the casket. The light was becoming stronger now. Dawn was perhaps only minutes away.

105

So intent was Cassie on her mission that she became aware of another presence only seconds before she was seized from behind by someone who pinioned her arms to her sides. Instinctively she brought her head back hard against her assailant's face, causing him to emit a muffled exclamation of pain. She struggled to free herself, hampered by the need to protect the casket. In desperation, she flung her head back again, and the attacker momentarily relaxed his grip on one arm to transfer both her arms to one hand, while he clamped his free hand to her mouth, forcing her head back. Wild-eyed, she saw the sun's first rays of ahead of her, at the same moment as the casket slipped from her fingers, hitting the rock in front of her with a dull thud. A gust of wind caught the fine, pale, powdery contents, carrying them in a thin scarf-like dance towards Madgy's Chair, where they seemed to dissolve into the dim face of the rock. The moments when her gaze was transfixed by this strange twist of fate gave her attacker the advantage. He flung her down and swooped on her like a vampire bat. With a sickening jolt, she saw the balaclava covering his face.

Something turned, and rose in fury inside Cassie then. Pinned to the ground, her mouth momentarily free as his grip on her throat tightened, she croaked at him in hoarse defiance: "I despise you! Coward! Coward!" Then she lost consciousness.

XXV

When Cassie came to, she didn't recognise her surroundings. She was lying in bed in a white and stainless steel world that smelt of antiseptic. She recognised Jake, though, sitting on a chair beside her bed, looking haggard and unshaven. After a while, she also became aware that the hands attached to one of hers were his. And then she realised that it was his voice speaking to her, as if it were travelling down a long tunnel.

106

"Cassie, love," he was saying. "You're safe now. You're going to be alright…"

"Oh Jake," she said weakly, "so good to see you…" Then the fog closed over her again.

The next time she opened her eyes she thought only a few seconds had elapsed, though later she learned that it had been many hours. Instead of Jake, her mother was sitting beside the bed. She, too, looked rather haggard.

"Hello, pet," she said, trying to sound bright. "Feeling a little better?"

"Better than what?" Cassie thought numbly.

"Hi Mum," she croaked through dry lips, then closed her eyes to rest again.

She was so tired, and her throat was on fire, and her neck hurt, and her head throbbed.

She tried to think, but it was no use. Then she had it. "Have you seen Jake?" she said without opening her eyes. In fact, she thought her eyes were open, she couldn't tell the difference just then.

"I sent him home," her mother said gently. "He'd barely slept for three days. But he'll be back, don't worry."

"Soon?"

"Soon."

"Did he save me?"

107

"Yes."

Cassie felt overcome by heavy waves of somnolence again. She drifted off, still heavily sedated.

The next morning, her eyes opened as if she'd had a normal night's sleep. She felt a bit groggy still, but much more lucid. The events of the previous four days and nights were an indistinct blur, but she didn't care, she was alive! A nurse brought her a light breakfast, which she only nibbled at. She really had no appetite, just a raging thirst.

As she was lying there, someone entered the room. She started up as she recognised him, then fell back on the pillows. "Ouch!" she said. "My head." "Take it gently there," he said. "You've had severe concussion."

He sat down and took her hand, searching her face for signs of recovery. "How's my girl?" he said.

"Your girl is fine," she answered carefully, just as her mother bustled in, radiating purpose.

"We can take you home today," she said, "after the doctor's seen you. But you'll have to take things quietly for a while," she added, giving Jake a warning look.

So it was that Cassie found herself back at Gwen's, tucked up in bed with her mother hovering nearby. She still found it hard to concentrate for long enough to phrase a question, but she knew there were heaps of things she wanted to ask. Her mother firmly discouraged her from even attempting to talk.

108

"Wait till you're better," she said, "then you can hear the whole story. You mustn't excite yourself now, it could be dangerous."

"Dangerous…!" Cassie tried to laugh, weakly, but her head still hurt, and she was soon asleep again.

The next person to appear at her bedside was none other than Belladonna.

"Are you real?" Cassie asked, incredulous.

"I'll ignore that bit of impertinence," announced Belladonna firmly. "I am here to welcome you home."

"Home?" asked Cassie faintly.

"Yes," repeated Belladonna. "Home to Cornwall, where you belong."

"Do I?" said Cassie faintly. But Belladonna had already gone.

XXVI

The next morning, Cassie attempted to tell her mother about Belladonna's visitation, but Julia Miles cut her daughter short. "You're still delirious from the after-effects of the concussion and the medication," she said firmly. "You're not to think any more about that deluded old woman. I absolutely forbid it!"

Cassie was taken aback at her mother's vehemence.

"Why are you so hard-line, all of a sudden?" she asked.

109

"If I'd had any idea," her mother said, "what that foolish old person was putting you up to, I'd never have been a party to it."

"But it would have been okay if…" Cassie was beginning to remember what that "if" entailed.

"No," said her mother. "It would not have been okay. We found the letter you were carrying, with all her instructions. And the urn that had contained her ashes. Which we had assumed all this time were safely interred in the appropriate place."

Cassie was flabbergasted. "You mean to say that's what was in the casket?" she asked, incredulous. "I assumed it was some kind of magic powder…" "Oh indeed!" her mother said scornfully. "I do think Belladonna should have known better than to inflict such a gruesome task on a young girl. What an old witch she turned out to be."

"Well, it's not as if she'd made a secret of it," Cassie giggled weakly. "A witch of the old school, though, don't you think? They don't come like that these days."

"As if you'd know!" said Julia trenchantly.

"Anyway," retorted Cassie, "I think Belladonna's remains are in the appropriate place, after all." And now she understood why Belladonna had not come herself. Her great-aunt had known she would probably die in her adopted country, but she had wanted her mortal remains - such as they were - to return to Cornwall.

Cassie had never seen her mother like this before, in martial mode. She wondered what had brought about the change. 110

"Now," said the new Julia Miles, "you're looking very pale again, so I suggest another sleep, and this afternoon, if it's fine enough, we might let you sit in the garden."

"Just a minute," said Cassie, seeing her mother was about to leave. "Where's my silver hare?"

"You mean this?" said Julia, picking up the pouch of herbs from the bedside table and handing it to her.

"And why hasn't Jake been to see me?"

"He's been told not to. You have to rest quietly until the doctor thinks you've recovered enough to have company. Give it a few more days, there's a good girl."

Cassie lay for a while, trying to reconstruct the events of - how many nights ago? But it was no use, it only hurt her head when she tried to think. Nothing was clear at the moment. Except for one thing. She was missing Jake.

XXVII

It was another two days before she was allowed to see Jake, and then it was only for fifteen minutes, under her mother's supervision. Cassie felt as if she'd been catapulted back into primary school. She couldn't wait to regain her independence. After all, she would be eighteen in March, which was only three months away. Her mother wasn't usually such a control freak. Gwen must have filled her ears with garbled tales - about the motorbike and so on, she surmised.

111

She was feeling stronger, and her memory of recent events was starting to return, although there were many pieces still missing from the puzzle. She had to see Jake alone, soon. There were many things she needed to know, urgently, and he had the answers.

The doctor visited that afternoon, and pronounced Cassie fit for non-taxing social activities. Julia had little choice but to agree reluctantly to Cassie seeing Jake alone the next day. Or not quite alone - she would be permitted to take a taxi as far as An Mab's house in Marazion, and meet Jake there. But there were two pieces of news that Julia had been saving to tell Cassie.

"I didn't want to tell you before, in case the excitement upset you," she said. "You've been accepted into the School of Journalism at the uni. Congratulations darling! I know how hard you worked for this."

She hugged Cassie carefully, as if afraid she might break.

"The other news is about your dad. He's coming home from the sea. Retiring. It hasn't really been a proper marriage for years, so now we can try to retrieve it. I've realised how much I've missed him, since you've been out of the house. I can't go on living the way I've been doing for the last five years, though. My life would have been quite empty without you at home."

Now it was Cassie's turn to hug Julia.

"It's okay, Mum," she said gently. "I'm sure it'll all work out. Don't fret."

"Oh, don't worry," her mother reassured her. "This will mean a new lease of life for me. I've decided to finish that higher degree I abandoned, and then look for some part-time work. Your father was always against it - thought that 112 wives and mothers should stay home, but I'm through with that, and he knows it. He'll get used to it. And I'll be glad if he's there to come home to."

Cassie remembered something else. "How did you get here so fast?" she said.

"Well, I was coming anyway."

"Meaning?"

"I'd thought I'd like to join you for Christmas, after the Belladonna business was finished, so I made a tentative booking. Then when I got the letter you wrote to Sophie I was a bit worried about you. So I confirmed the booking. But then when Gwen phoned me I had to fast-forward it anyway. I would have been arriving just about now, if this hadn't happened."

"Well, it seems as if everything's fallen into place then," said Cassie, wincing at the effort she was making to speak clearly and sensibly.

Privately, she felt a bit shattered. The good news about her university entrance had different implications now from what it would have had a month earlier. For a start, she would have to leave Cornwall. For another thing, she'd have to leave Jake. The latter prospect filled her with dismay.

So by the time she saw Jake the next day, she was feverish with the need to communicate. He was unaccountably subdued, however, although he could not disguise his pleasure at seeing her. "Cassie, lass," he said, embracing her very carefully, as if she were made of porcelain. "I've missed you heaps."

"Not half as much as I've missed you," she said.

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Mab was tactfully absent, so they made themselves at home with cups of camomile tea (Cassie was not allowed to drink anything stronger) and sat facing each other in two of Mab's armchairs.

"So, Cassandra," Jake said, raising his mug to her. "To your health. And I never meant it more," he added.

"I understand we wouldn't be sitting here talking about it, but for you," she said. "I mean, I probably wouldn't be here at all."

"That is so," he agreed gravely.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Intuition. Instinct. Telepathy. And you gave away clues. I couldn't sleep at all that night. I sensed you were in danger. I even guessed I might find you at Madgy Figgy's Chair. I had the bright idea of checking with the taxi company, and they told me, very reluctantly, that they had sent a car to St Levan with a young lady, but the driver hadn't returned, and was not responding to calls from headquarters. So I scorched the old tyres to get to you before he did. I was almost too late."

His words were bringing it all back to her, out of the haze of memory loss. She started to shiver violently. Jake was instantly out of his chair, drawing her up from hers to hold her. Her teeth were chattering as she shook and shook, then the tears started flowing, and she began to sob on his shoulder. Jake enfolded her closely in his arms, stroking her hair, making soothing noises as one would to a child.

She gradually became calmer, and he led her to the sofa, where he wrapped 114 one of Mab's shawls around her and sat beside her, rubbing warmth into her hands.

"Why?" she asked. "Why did he do it? Why me? Why Renate? Why - Angela?"

"It seems he was, or rather, is, a very disturbed individual," Jake began. "Do you want to hear this now, or would you rather not?"

"Please go on," said Cassie.

"Well, it's a strange story, though I guess not so strange by Cornish standards. The man we know as the Balaclava Man was keeping company with a young witch of the old school - you know, black magic, curses, all that sort of stuff. When he jilted her for another girl, word has it she put a curse on him, so that he'd never be happy. Sure enough, a year after he married the other girl, she left him for somebody else, and he became deranged. He started acting like a werewolf, stalking young women. You know the rest. Apparently it comes over him in winter, in the weeks before Christmas, the anniversary of when his wife left him. She had the sense to get as far away as she could - migrated to Canada - so he had to find substitutes to avenge himself on."

"But how come no-one suspected him?"

"He was clever, and he was mobile. And quick as a fox."

"I know." She shuddered. "Mum told me the police have to take a statement from me. Tomorrow, they said."

She registered for the first time that Jake also had bruises and scratches on his neck and jaw.

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"Did he try to get you too?" she said.

"Of course. He was strong enough to break away from me, though, when I started to get the better of him. He would have escaped if it hadn't been for the coastguards."

"Were they there too?"

"Not at first. Apparently they were joking about Madgy's ghost walking again when they saw your torch, and they were almost going to come and warn you not to create a navigation hazard, but they didn't think the beam was strong enough to warrant it. Then they noticed the Balaclava Man sneaking past, although they had no idea who he was; and then they saw me. But it was the sounds of the scuffle that finally brought them out to investigate. It got noisy at one point, after you passed out."

"So they caught him running away?"

"Yes. Although he couldn't have stayed on the run long, once his identity had been established. The taxi was sitting at St Levan without a driver, so the finger of suspicion would certainly have pointed in his direction."

"How do you thank somebody for saving your life?" she said.

"You don't," he said. "Apart from which, you yourself must have put up a spirited fight. It's thanks to your own resistance that you're still alive, as much as for any other reason. But since, to my eternal and inexpressible gratitude, your life has been spared, I …wanted to ask you something…"

"What?" said Cassie, wondering what could possibly make Jake so diffident.

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"I wanted to ask you … if you might give some consideration … to the idea of spending some of your life - or even, maybe, all of it - with me…"

At that moment, Mab bustled in.

"Cassandra my dear!" she said, embracing her. "We're so glad to have you back with us!"

"She has to go home in a few minutes, Aunt," said Jake gently.

"But you'll come again soon, won't you?" said An Mab.

"Oh yes!" said Cassie. "I certainly shall!"

Jake accompanied her in the taxi back to Newlyn. "Please think about what I said," he murmured. "But there's no hurry. I know you have to go away, to study. I can wait for you. If you want me to. And even if you don't," he added, teasing.

"Will you come the day after tomorrow?" Cassie said. "Can we go somewhere nice?"

"How about St Ives?" he said. "We can take the bus. You shouldn't wear a helmet yet, so the bike will have to wait."

XXVIII

Christmas was imminent, and so was Julia's departure, on the 28th of December. She and Cassie had had some long talks and walks, and sorted a few things out. Cassie would return to Australia in another month, to prepare for university. Meanwhile, she would stay with An Mab after her mother's 117 departure, as Gwen declared she could not countenance further upsets, and was not willing to take responsibility for Cassie's safety.

Julia's reservations about Jake had been withdrawn on closer acquaintance, and, as she reminded herself, he had, after all, saved her daughter's life. It was just that she'd thought him a trifle too old. "Twenty-four, Mum, isn't exactly ancient," Cassie protested. "And it's not as if I'd been surrounded by young people all my life, is it? I mean, you and Dad and Belladonna were not exactly spring chickens. And even my half-siblings are years older than me."

Julia was reminded of Cassie's years in the debating team. "That's my girl!" she said with a touch of irony. "Always knew how to swing an argument, didn't you?"

"It's okay, Mum," said Cassie. "I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, I guess you do," said Julia, sighing. "But don't forget to come home."

That night, Cassie went with Jake on his bike to see the Christmas lights at Mousehole. Muffled in scarves against the cold, they rode beside the sea under starry skies. Walking around the small, horseshoe-shaped harbour arm in arm with Jake, she felt like a princess. But there was still something troubling her.

"What is it?" he said.

"It's this," she said. "You told me once that your family had been cursed, like mine, only the opposite. I mean, in mine the curse is supposed to fall mainly on the men, and in yours it afflicts the women. If there was ever really a curse on my family, I think I've done all I could to remove it. I followed all 118

Belladonna's instructions, and now I think her soul is at peace. So are you prepared to take that risk? And also, what about me, and your curse?"

"I believe, that when the good Lord gave me the chance to save your life, I broke that spell, if there was one. But Mab said something interesting the other day, too."

"Oh, what?"

"She said that if two people with such legacies unite, they cancel out each other's malign influences."

"Really?"

"Are you prepared to go with that, and see what happens?"

"Try me."

"I have some more news for you."

"Yes?"

"I'm going back to art school. I'm going to learn etching and lithography, and print-making. It will give me a greater range of creative possibilities. A more interesting future. But I'll pay my way with silversmithing, which I shan't abandon."

"Great!" said Cassie. "Sounds great! When I come in summer, you'll have lots to show me."

"When you come in summer, you'll write the stories, and I'll illustrate them." 119

"But lithographs and etchings are too good for feature articles."

"I believe you've other tales to tell. You've got the magic in you, I saw it the first time I laid eyes on you."

"Do you know the story of the sleeping princess?" she asked.

"Yes, why?"

"Because I feel as if I've been asleep nearly all my life, and now I want to wake up."

"Do you see that star up there?" he asked. "The big, bright one - the Christmas star? Look at it with me, and make a wish."

FINIS

120

Bibliography of Sources Consulted

Heath, Robin. Stone Circles. London, Hodder and Stoughton, 1999.

Hunt, Robert. Cornish Folk-Lore. Penryn, Tor Mark Press, 1988.

Jones, Kelvin I. Seven Cornish Witches. Penzance, Oakmagic Publications,

1998.

McCormack, Kathleen. Tarot decoder: interpret the symbols of the tarot and increase your understanding of the cards. East Roseville, N.S.W., Simon &

Schuster, 1998.

Morrison, Sarah Lyddon. Modern Witch's Book of Symbols. London, Boxtree,

1998.

The Museum of Witchcraft. A brief history and guide to the displays.

Boscastle, The Museum of Witchcraft, 1998.

Pollack, Rachel. The Complete Illustrated Guide to Tarot. London, Element,

2002.

Williams, Michael. Around and About Land's End. Bodmin, Bossiney Books,

1997.

The Cornish Tin-miners' Song was found on a website regarding witchcraft in

Cornwall, as was the short extract about Madgy Figgy (pp. 49-51).