Page 49 of His Wicked Charm

Aunt Vesta leaned forward, confiding, “Because Barrow House is.” She tapped the table. “This land beneath us. We sit on a tor, smaller by far than Glastonbury but a crossroads nevertheless. Many lines intersect here. Long ago, I didn’t understand what fueled my abilities. I thought it all lay within me.” She smiled deprecatingly. “Vanity of course. I left here, full of pride, emboldened by my success. But I learned I didn’t have the same power anywhere else. I was still connected to the spirits of course. I could call on them and they would answer. But it wasn’t the same.”

“Aunt Vesta, no, please...” Lilah wasn’t sure what she pleaded for. She held her hand against her roiling stomach, as if she could keep it all locked in. She could not bring herself to look at Con.

Vesta paid no attention to her as she rolled on. “But finally, I understood. I held great ability because I was born here, atop this hub, this center. That was why I was able to use the power to such an extent. That was why I could call forth Brockminster and he would respond.”

“Brockminster?” Con straightened. “Elmont Brockminster? Good Lord—you’re Madame LeClaire!”

Aunt Vesta beamed. “Yes. Dear boy, how astonishing that you remember!”

“How could I not? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize your name at once. The Brockminster Séance was a sensation.”

“It was astonishing,” Vesta agreed. “You cannot imagine what power surged through me. It was like ice and fire all at once. That was when I knew, really knew, what I was capable of.”

“Stop!” Lilah shoved back her chair so hard it almost toppled over. Her face was stark white, her eyes full of storm. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” Anger and resentment choked her throat. She knew she was making a bad scene even worse, but Lilah couldn’t stop herself. With an inarticulate cry, she turned and ran from the room.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“LILAH—” CON JUMPED to his feet, alarmed at the look on Lilah’s face. “Lilah, wait.” He took a step toward her, but she was already gone. Con muttered a curse beneath his breath and started after her.

“Don’t,” Vesta told him, reaching out. “Let her have a little time alone. It’s never wise to push Dilly.”

Con hesitated. Her aunt was probably right. He had enough experience with Lilah to know that if he pursued her, she would lash out in anger. And while he didn’t mind a good argument, he had no wish to upset her more.

“Mrs. LeClaire, I’m sorry.” He turned to her. “I didn’t mean to distress Lilah. I was just startled when I realized who you were.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Poor Lilah...” She sighed heavily. “I’m afraid she has little tolerance for what she doesn’t understand. Sadly, she didn’t inherit any of the family talent.”

“There were others in the family with, um, your ability?”

“Not to the extent I had.” She preened a little. “But the Holcutts have always been attuned to the world of the spirit. Of course, many of them attributed everything to accepted theological beliefs, but there were others who were more adventurous.”

Barrow House and its occupants were growing more fascinating by the moment. Why had Lilah never mentioned any of this? Well, no, he knew the answer to that. It was because it went against her view of the world. But why had she turned out so differently from the rest of her family? And, most of all, why did it give her the pain he had seen just now in her eyes?

As soon as he could extricate himself from Vesta’s conversational clutches, Con went searching for Lilah. He had heard the door out to the garden slam a moment after she ran from the room, so he turned in that direction. He could not find her in the garden, but as he emerged at the other end, he saw Lilah standing in the distance. Her arms were crossed, and she stared out broodingly over the landscape.

He followed her. Lilah heard his approach and glanced back, then turned away without speaking. Con decided that was as good as an invitation, and he joined her. Lilah stood on the edge of the promontory on which the house sat. As Lilah’s aunt had said the tor wasn’t high, but it was taller than anything else around and gave a panoramic view of the Levels. Con could see all the way to Glastonbury Tor, rising dramatically far off in the distance.

Perfectly flat, the farmland below them was laced with short, straight waterways. Willow trees grew in straight rows along the embankments, and here and there he could see a marshy spot, where ferns and reeds grew wild. The late-afternoon sun washed it all with a pale golden light, but fog was already beginning to ooze in along the canals and around the base of Glastonbury Tor.

There was an odd, eerie beauty to the place. It was a far cry from the rolling, green land of the Moreland country estate, with its grand old trees and pastures dotted with wildflowers. But the Levels held a magnificence all their own, still and timeless.

“Are you all right?” Con asked. It was a foolish question because obviously she was not, but he knew he must tread carefully here.

“Yes, of course.” Lilah glanced at him, her face reverting to its polite public mask. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly.” She turned back to her contemplation of the view, clearly done with the topic.

He decided to try a different path. “I like it here. There’s something about it that draws one.” When she made no reply, he went on, “Do you feel that way? Doesn’t it tug at you?”

“You’ve been listening too much to my aunt,” Lilah said tartly. “It’s just land, not some sentient being or ancient holy ground.” She let out a sigh. “But yes, I love it. I feel at home here. That’s only natural. I grew up here.”

“So you don’t believe that it’s the pull of Glastonbury Tor?” Con knew that would light a fire in her. That was exactly what he wanted. It seemed the only way he could pierce the polite calm she used as a shield.

He was right. Lilah’s eyes darkened. “Of course not. Aunt Vesta can make herself believe anything she wants to believe, no matter how flimsy the reasons. You can draw a line from anywhere to anywhere. It’s not magic. As for that ludicrous triangle linking Stonehenge, Glastonbury and Avebury, well, of course a continuous line to three places will form a triangle. You could do the same with any spots!”

“True.”

“And you, of course, encouraged her. Tell me about the power. What of the Fae Path?” She was building up steam now. “There is no Source. No power running beneath our feet. And the Faerie Track is nothing but a safe passage through the bogs built by the people who dwelled here long ago. It’s clever. It’s interesting. But it is not supernatural.” She flung her hands out wide.

“I suppose you have a logical explanation for what happened at the Brockminster Séance.”