* 60 *

chapteR six.

Connie's book collection was impressive. It was a bibliophile's paradise and had more than tripled in size in the time Amy had been away. Connie's range of interests seemed to have expanded with it, the primary themes being the natural world, botany, art, and the esoteric. Amy wondered how many Connie had actually contributed to, or were these merely a reflection of her reading preferences?

She went directly to the shelves she knew housed Connie's earlier work for the Garoul Press, and in particular the older almanacs. Connie's working partnership with Marie spanned over two decades. Amy pulled out a few at random,1988 and 1997. They were large leather bound volumes of an irregular size, slightly larger than quarto. The almanacs were produced to a bastard size.

These babies must be expensive to churn out. Amy suspected they were created for a specialized clientele rather than the general public. Ultimately, they were for a collector's niche market and had to cost a small fortune.

For good measure Amy also selected a third, more recent book Connie had worked on, but not for Garoul Press. The comparison might prove useful.

Comfortable on the couch, she slowly began to browse the first of the almanacs. The pages were matte and thick, creamy to the touch, and oozed luxury through her fingertips. The tactile lusciousness, combined with the exquisite world of Connie's artistry, totally immersed her. Before her eyes petals rippled in * 61 *

a soft breeze, grasses flowed across paper, leaves rattled and crunched, and the turn of each page wafted her with an imagined floral bouquet. Engrossed, she sat for over an hour drifting through Connie's delicate world, lost to the time and motion of this one...

until she saw it.

A mark.

A series of sigils, to be exact, embedded in Angelica sylvestris.

Angelica, a favorite herb of hers; Amy had drawn it many times, root and stem, bloom and seed head. So often, in fact, that she immediately noticed the adventitious lines and swirls in the illustration. If she hadn't already known this specimen inside out, and had a professional interest in its representation, the markings would have been almost undetectable.

Most of the markings were applied to parts of the plant, but a few floated through the background and were the easiest to pick out. Quickly Amy flipped forward a few pages and concentrated on Cnicus benedictus, or blessed thistle, a plant she was unfamiliar with. There was nothing. Did that mean there were no marks there or that they couldn't be seen with a layman's eye? Had she only noticed the angelica markings because she happened to know every last whisker of the herb?

Sighing, she sat back. This would need a lot more investigation than a quick look. And what did the marks mean? She'd have to find that out, too. She was certain they made no reference whatsoever to Connie's artistic signature, or any cataloguing system Amy knew of. Certain now that there was more going on than either Leone or Marie were prepared to tell her, she set the almanacs aside and stretched.

Why were these markings endorsed by the Garoul Press, and did they have anything to do with Connie's collapse? Amy placed the almanacs on Connie's desk. She would need to go through all of them with a fine-toothed comb. She picked up her third and final selection and glanced at the spine. Witchery for Wooers. The publisher was The Wiccan Wheel.

With a wry smile she opened it. She hadn't known Connie contributed to books like this. It looked rustic and quaint. It had * 62 *

probably been a fun project to work on. There were few full-page illustrations inside, but two of them, renditions of a yew and a gingko tree, she easily recognized as Connie's work. Here her usual signature was employed, making the Garoul sigils seem even more suspect.

Well-worn and loved, the pages spilled open in her hands, easily cascading from beginning to end. This was more a friend than a book. Amy was content to casually dip in, halting here and there to cast an idle eye over amulets, charms, scrying spells, and love potions. There were chapters with recipes for fragrant oils, herbal sachets, and incense cakes. Even one on magical candle making, with scents and dyes, and the inevitable candle spells.

Green is for Venus.

Musk, Ambergris, and Myrtle her scent.

Burn through to first hour of sunrise.

Call your love 'til candle's spent.

Gently she closed the covers with a smile. She had to admit it was a charming book. She would have been proud to contribute artwork to something as delicately fashioned as this. An editing coup and marketing masterpiece, it vibrated with positivity and promise.

It would make a lovely gift, and was beautiful to browse through.

But I can't see anyone actually believing in this stuff, never mind practicing any of it to woo a lover. I mean, lighting green candles to Venus and calling people to you...how daft can you get?

She headed wearily to the bathroom. It had been an intriguing day, full of ups and downs. Her first working day back in Little Dip was, objectively, a success. She had found and recorded her first specimen, fit in some brilliant fishing, and had a lovely dinner at Marie's. The editing problem with the extraneous markings she knew would make sense once she properly understood what was going on.

The only real blight had been the animal lurking in the woods, and the fact that it had been bold enough to sniff out the fish. That alarmed her, though her initial feelings of unease had now numbed.

* 63 *

No harm had come to her; she had just been spooked. Nevertheless, she was left with a vague feeling of disquiet she could not consciously identify.

As she brushed her teeth, her mind wandered back to the more comforting moments of the day. Surprisingly, she found herself thinking of the time spent with Leone, laughing and joking as they strolled home from the river, or sipping ginger tea before a log fire mulling over her morning's work. Even dinner at Marie's had been fun. Sitting around a table with Leone and Marie sharing good food, good wine, and good conversation. A surge of old emotion, old memory, broke to the surface, flooding her with bittersweet nostalgia.

Immediately, she forced it down and sealed it shut, entombing it deep within. She rinsed and spat its residue into the basin along with the toothpaste. She knew where this softening of her heart would lead, and she knew she didn't want to go there. She had no love left for Leone Garoul. Not anymore. With one long, stern stare in to the mirror she turned away to prepare for bed.

Soft, yellow lamplight spilled from the cabin window. Outside, yards from her door, Leone settled under the cedar trees waiting for the lights to douse and the cabin to plunge into darkness.

Ten minutes later the cabin's lights went out. Its sole inhabitant now settled for the night, Leone focused steadfastly on Amy's darkened windows. All was still. Immobile in the shadows, she waited a further hour before turning away and melting into night, as soft as a velvet shadow.

* 64 *

chapteR seven.

Abeautiful dawn chorus greeted Amy on her second morning. Before she could even blink herself awake, a smile was on her face.

This place is magical. I always wake up happy here. She kicked the quilt to the foot of the bed and quickly padded down the ladder to start her day.

Soon she was washed and fed, and almost out the door when she thought to bring a scarf. The daily forecast promised chill northerly winds. She fumbled in the small dresser by the door. Connie also favored scarves for the cooler fall weather. Amy scrabbled through a nest of knotted silk and wool, trying to extract one from the jumble.

Her fingers brushed against cool metal near the back of the drawer.

Carefully, she pulled away swathes of colorful fabric to expose the metallic gleam of a Ruger. Amy held the Bearcat revolver in her hand, frowning. She peered further into the drawer and found an opened box of bullets.

Gingerly she set the box of bullets on the dresser and examined her find. It was not a hunting gun. Connie had always declared she was a fisher, not a hunter. She had never cared much for guns and weaponry, so why did she have a firearm tucked away in her cabin?

Amy remembered the claw marks around her fish and the ill ease she had felt. Had Connie not felt safe? Perhaps the gun had always been lying neglected at the back of the drawer? A token to American household security out here in the middle of nowhere?

* 65 *

Pushing the weapon and its accompanying bullets back where she'd found them, Amy let it go. She had enough to get on with today. She tied a silk scarf around her neck and headed out to work.

She took the high trail that led north to the logging road and Big Jack. It was a very long hike and Marie was right, it would take her most of the day to make it up there, never mind all the way back before dark. But Amy had a plan. If she got high enough, soon enough, she was sure she could locate areas where the growing conditions suited henbane perfectly. There was no real need to go all the way to Big Jack. As far as she was concerned, if the plant grew happily in one part of the valley there was no reason it couldn't grow in other suitable areas, too. All she had to do was find the nearest one. Simple. She knew the soil was lighter and well drained higher up the valley walls, and with the amount of seed black henbane produced, she wouldn't be surprised if it was rife in any clearing it could find.

Her hunch was right. A few hours later and she literally struck pay dirt. The first thing she dug out from the side pocket of her backpack was a pair of disposable gloves. All parts of this weed were toxic and she didn't want to inadvertently absorb anything as she examined the specimens for her model plant.

Her selection made, she set to work quickly with her camera.

The day was still young and the light good, but the forecast was for heavy cloud cover by midday. She should be finished here and back home in time to call on Marie with the trout long before she lost the best of the light.

After supper she planned to spend the rest of the evening in Connie's studio, working on the henbane and the devil's club sketches. Then she'd treat herself to a big cognac and some more almanac investigation. Her work schedule for the next few weeks was perfect, if she lucked out with the weather.

Time flew when Amy became absorbed in her work. She was coming to the end of her series of sketches when a sudden cold sensation, like ice water trickling down her spine, ripped her focus apart. The effect on her system was immediate. She stiffened, her skin chilled, and the small hairs on her arms stood to attention.

Silence filled the small clearing.

* 66 *

When did the birds stop singing? She raised her head, listening...

to nothing. Even the breeze seemed to drop away and abandon her.

It was back. The shadow was back. She knew it. She could feel it, dark and predatory, circling in the forest behind her. Slowly inching to the tree line, fixing on her like a target! Stop being silly. All you're doing is scaring the crap out of yourself. Just pack up nice and slow, and head home. She was more or less done anyway.

All the while scolding herself for her excessive imagination, but still unable to shake her unease, Amy packed up in double quick time. The silence from the surrounding woods was unnerving.

She needed to get moving and she'd hear the birds soon enough.

Probably an eagle overhead had made them all hush up.

Backpack on her shoulders, she now had the awkward decision of which way to go. The route she had come by would take her straight into the silent forest. Although she felt a little calmer now, and her skin had stopped crawling, she was reluctant to do that. The other option was to go a little higher up and connect with the logging road. Then she could double back along it to where it eventually met up with the main route to the Garoul compound. It was by far the longest way home, but she had time today. Her gut instinct told her that was the way to go.

As she strode quickly in that direction the woodland around her came back to life, making her doubt her earlier fears. Once again she felt silly and blamed her ripe imagination for her turmoil. Still, it was an uphill slog and she refused to slacken her pace. She wanted to be home. She kidded herself it was so she could get an earlier start in the studio, but her feet were moving far faster than was necessary and she had no intention of slowing down.

v Elicia pulled the Jeep over to the edge of the dirt road and let the engine idle. She stuck her head out the window. "Hey. Need a lift anywhere?" she called over to Leone.

Leone shifted and strolled over to the vehicle. She had been propped against Big Jack for quite some time now and her patience was wearing thin.

* 67 *

"Nah, thanks. I'm just out for a stroll and thought I'd drop by and visit the big fella." She nodded toward the tree but her gaze flitted along the tree-lined track, expecting something or someone to appear any moment.

"Some stroll. Sure you don't want a lift back? I'm heading into town. I can easily drop you somewhere closer to home?"

Leone smiled and shrugged. "I'll be okay. It's early yet and I'll have plenty of time for the hike back. Think I'll hang out here for a while. Thanks for the offer though." She returned to the tree and her slouching. "Have fun in Lost Creek. Be sure to spend all Jori's money."

"Oh, I'm fantastic with his plastic," Elicia joked back as she pulled away.

v Less than half a mile from the logging road Amy's skin began to prickle again. The muted sounds of the forest once more fell away.

Shit. I can do without this right now. There's a bear out there. I know there is. I don't care what Leone says, there's a big, hungry bear, and he's got my scent. Eau de poopoopants- She was tired and ill humored from the uphill hike. Now she was frightened as well. Around her the only sound was the rustle of wiregrass. She had never felt so alone. Part of her wished she had taken Leone up on her offer to help. It seemed like a damned good idea now.

The terrain changed and she found herself on a slight incline heading down toward the logging road. In the distance she could hear a motor engine slowly chug along the rugged track. Relieved at the sound of human activity, she picked up her trot, taking advantage of the downhill roll. Out of the corner of her eye a stealthy shadow began to sway and flit, always edging away from her full vision.

Unlike yesterday at the river, she decided not to waste any time trying to focus on whatever was out there. It moved parallel to her only to fall back out of her eye line, as if challenging her to stop and look. She could feel it, if not quite catch it, flitting from tree to tree * 68 *

in the shadow of the deeper forest. It was there; she could sense it stalking her...off to her right, playing with her.

Keep your breathing regular and your feet flapping. Don't let whatever it is know you know it's there. Maybe it'll shy away when you get on the logging trail. Please, please, please.

Her panic was sounding suspiciously like a prayer. By the time the trees thinned out enough to see the dirt road a hundred yards ahead she was practically a convert. The engine noise she'd heard earlier was louder now. It felt imperative to wave down the vehicle as it churned along the track. Only then would she feel safe.

She broke into a wobbly run, dodging low branches and hooked roots. She swerved around bushes, leapt over low clumps of undergrowth. All she could hear was the ragged rasp of her breathing and the thump of her heart. She had no idea what was going on around her. Forward momentum became her entire universe. She burst through the tree line and leapt an overgrown drainage ditch.

Gravel and dirt rattled as she skidded to a halt, puffing and sweating.

Anxiously she gazed down the road for the first sight of the vehicle.

It sounded so close it had to be almost upon her. Where was it? Had she missed it? God, no!

Beep!

Amy nearly leapt out of her clammy skin. She spun around to find Elicia driving up right behind her. Shocked, she stared through the windshield at the bemused driver. The horn blare faded and Amy realized the birds were twittering, the breezes blew, and forest life had returned to normal. The arrival of another person had magically removed whatever threat she had felt. Her shoulders relaxed as Elicia vacated the car and came around the hood to join her.

"You okay, Amy? Were you lost?" Concern flooded her voice and she placed a comforting hand to Amy's forearm.

"Mmm, yes. I got a little disorientated and stumbled onto the logging road. Where are you heading, Elicia? Could I grab a lift a little further along the track?" she part lied. She didn't want to share her fright with Elicia. She'd think she was crazy being spooked by shadows.

"Sure you can. I'm on an errand run to Lost Creek. To be honest * 69 *

I wanted to get out of the valley for a while. I'm taking Marie's books back to the library, and I need a few odds and ends from the pharmacy. Hey, come with me?"

Amy brushed loose curls off her flushed face with shaky hands.

"You know, I'd love to visit Lost Creek. I haven't been there for years." She made up her mind to spend time with Elicia. It would be fun, and a much needed break from the oppressive atmosphere she'd just experienced. "It never was the friendliest of places when I was young. I wonder if it's changed any?"

"Well, jump in and let's go and find out."

Amy dumped her backpack on the rear seat and clambered into the passenger side as Elicia slid in behind the wheel. Suddenly she was looking forward to spending some more time with Elicia. Amy found her upbeat and cheerful company.

As the Jeep moved off Amy threw a last surreptitious glance at the surrounding forest. There was nothing. No weird feelings or sensations-nothing. Her earlier unease was already melting away, leaving her feeling embarrassed at her semi-hysteria. For two days in a row, first Leone, and now Elicia, had come along and saved her from a panic attack.

What was wrong with her? Was she imagining these things?

Was she manifesting her anxieties about the project, or about Connie, or maybe even returning to Little Dip into some sort of phantom menace? I need to either get a grip, or get therapy. This foolishness has to stop right now.

The Jeep gathered a little more speed and crunched along the dirt road, throwing up plumes of dust, taking her away from her troubled thoughts and on to a welcome distraction. Hopefully, a quick trip outside the valley would help put all these jumbled feelings into perspective.

v Leone sat leaning against Big Jack, daydreaming at clouds with bunny ears, watching ants struggle with dead bugs, sullenly throwing pebbles at a larger stone. She waited with growing impatience.

* 70 *