story here. If there were a string of murders, even over a timescale of hundreds of years, there would be something. Instead, it's a blank wall.'
'So what's your conclusion?'
'I don't have a conclusion yet. I'm following the evidence.'
'Good. Let me know when you get somewhere.'
'I will.'
'And get some sleep. You sound like death warmed up.'
'I'm just tired. Long day.'
'Report tomorrow evening, earlier than this, if you can?'
'Will do.'
'Sleep well, Niall.'
'I'll try.' That came out ringing with untruth, but Garvin said nothing and I took my hand from the mirror.
The night wasn't over yet.
SEVENTEEN
Having spoken to Garvin, I could try Blackbird. I placed my hand back on the mirror.
'Blackbird?'
It misted under my hand.
'Blackbird, are you there?'
A strange whistling sound came from the mirror, followed by a buzz and crackle that made it sound like a badly tuned old-fashioned radio set. The buzz grew into a whine until the mirror vibrated with it and I was forced to remove my hand or risk the mirror. The condensation on the surface slowly contracted around my vacant handprint until it vanished. Wherever she had gone, it was secure against eavesdropping, by me or anyone else. Was that good news or bad? I tried to look on the positive side. If I couldn't find her, then maybe Deefnir wouldn't be able to either.
I had exhausted my enquiries, though I would dearly like to have talked to Blackbird before I slept. I suspected that I would find myself dreaming of the glade again. This time I was going to have to deal with it properly. If I didn't, I was never going to have a restful night's sleep again.
With a sense of mounting trepidation, I showered and prepared for bed. It felt more like girding my loins than readying myself for sleep. I slid in under the covers and lay in the near dark. I was so tired that my eyes felt gritty and heavy, but sleep would not come. Part of me knew what would happen when it did, and so I rolled on one side and then the other, delaying the moment.
I thought about all the things I'd learned: about the boats and the harbour, the men who never made it back to port, the way the town was changing, the feeble attempt to become a tourist resort with a disorganised museum and an unsuitable cafe. I puzzled about Raffmir and the reason for his unsolicited generosity. I questioned whether Garvin's reasons for keeping me away from the courts were really as straightforward as they appeared, and I wondered whether Kayleigh was sleeping any easier.
There must have been a moment when I wasn't thinking about any of these before I found myself on the path in the forest, but if there was, I do not remember it.
The transition was seamless. It was as if I was expected. I was clothed again, in fine black silk. My fingers were adorned with silver rings and an intricate silver clasp belted my waist. My feet were bare, and I could feel the crush and prickle of the pine needles beneath me. The air was heavy with resin, though frosty cold. Undisturbed in the dry, freezing air, the pine scent clung to my clothes and swirled around me as I moved slowly forward.
Looking behind me, I saw that the path vanished into pine-boughs where the rough trunks pressed together. The only sound was the brush of the soft needles against my arms and the prickling tread of my feet.
The clearing was unoccupied yet the sense of expectation, of invitation, was palpable. There was no doubt in my mind that I was recognised and welcome here. It made what I was about to do feel like treachery. I walked forward, knowing without looking that where the path had been there would be only snags and thorns.
'You've brought me here again.' The emptiness ate my words. There was no echo, no reverberation. It was soft and smothering, like an unwanted aunt's embrace. 'I can't keep coming here. You can't make me. You'll have to find some other way.'
The temperature fell, deepening the chill.
'You again?'
I recognised Debbie's voice immediately. When I turned she was behind me, naked.
'Stay away from me.' She hugged her arms around her, hiding her breasts. 'I know about your sort. You're crazy. You need help.'
I turned my back and ignored her. 'Send her back. I will not touch her.'
'You're completely barking. Mental, that's what you are.'
Even as she spoke, her voice faded. I was alone again.
Then a new voice. 'I must be asleep.'
I turned, recognising the tone, the memory of an insistent cry and a weary voice roused from sleep, giving me a name.
'Helen?'
'Do I know you?'
She held the baby in the crook of her arm as it nuzzled into her armpit, making little whimpers. The naked child was cold in the exposed air, though Helen herself was dressed in a cotton shift. She had a practical, straightforward look to her that I had not seen in the photo. She gathered the baby to her and looked about, a sense of growing panic in her eyes. She was searching for somewhere to run, and there was nowhere.
'What is this?'
I didn't answer her. Instead I spoke to the pinpricked sky. 'You can send her back too. I will not touch her, or the babe.'
'Who are you talking to?' she asked. 'There's no one there.'
The babe began to mewl as the cold seeped into them both.
'Send them back, now. I do not want them here.'
'I said, there's no one there.' She was starting to sound angry.
I stripped off the silk shirt, undoing the buttons and then pulling it over my head.
'What are you doing?' Her voice held the edge of panic.
I approached her slowly, offering the black cloth bundle. 'Here, wrap the babe in this.'
She took it from me, hesitantly, understanding dawning on her face. As she lifted the child on to her shoulder it started to wail, but then quieted as she wrapped the shirt around it and cuddled it close, using her warmth for comfort.
'Thanks,' she murmured, but the disquiet was still in her eyes.
'I have a message for you.'
'For me? How? I mean… do you?'
'And a question.'
She shook her head. 'This is strange…'
'Let me get this right. The message is that there's a young man who's desperate to hear from you and wants to do the right thing, not just because it's the right thing to do. He's waiting for you.'
'How do you know this?' Hope had lifted her voice.
'And Greg, the vicar, would like to know whether it's a boy or a girl, though I think I already know the answer to that question.'
She smiled for the first time. 'He's called…'
'Shhhh! Do not name him here. He's too young and far too vulnerable.' I turned to the glade. 'Let her go now. She has what she came for. Release her.'
'Release me from what?'
I ignored her. 'Let them go.'
