Evans to Betsy

very special significance when the passage between this world and the other was more accessible. We know, for example, that Druid-era window-tombs allowed shafts of light to fall onto the body only on the morning of the winter solstice.

Over centuries of worship holy places become imbued with power and awe. We sense the power in these holy places today and incorporate them into our ceremonies.

But our true holy places today are not amid standing stones or on mountain crags. We worship wherever we are at one with nature. Druids have always venerated the oak tree. Therefore, we choose to hold our most sacred ceremonies in an oak grove.

Druids have always believed that mistletoe is a plant of mystical powers, maybe because it can live without roots, merely perching on other plants, green all winter in spite of frost and snow. We always incorporate “mistletoe” into our ceremonies.

We hold the hazel important for divination.

The yew has special powers for us.

We are at one with all nature—stone and mater, wood and flower.

We are at one with the animals of the forest and the birds of the air and the fish of the ocean.

By midmorning Evan was riding with Betsy and the American woman back to Llanfair. Betsy had tried to protest that she should be staying to do her job, but even Annabel saw that Betsy was in no condition to work.

“We really don’t need you, my dear,” she had said, patting Betsy’s hand. “Please go home and have a good rest. We’ve all had a terrible, terrible shock—you much more so, because of the psychic forces at work in you. Randy was always so tired after a session with—” She broke off, put her hand to her mouth, and fled into her office.

Betsy allowed Emmy and Evan to lead her to the car. Emmy asked Evan to drive. “I’m in no fit state,” she said. So Evan drove. Emmy sat silent beside him. Betsy huddled in the backseat. As usual on such occasions Evan was amazed to find life going on as if nothing had happened. Women were doing their shopping in Porthmadog high street, pushing prams or dodging in and out of traffic with shopping baskets. Tourists were taking pictures of the bridge in Beddgelert. Children were screaming as they ran around the playground of the Beddgelert village school, causing Evan’s thoughts to turn to Bronwen. He hoped she was feeling better this morning. If it was a twenty-four- hour bug, as the doctor had predicted, she should be up and around again.

“I’ll be sorry to leave Mrs. Williams,” Emmy said as they drove into Llanfair. “Such a nice lady. We had already established a real bond between us.”

“You’re not going, are you?” Betsy asked.

Emmy pushed back her hair in a distraught gesture. “I can’t stay here now. Not after what’s happened. Too many bad vibes. I just wouldn’t feel right working here. And with—Randy gone, there’s no point, is there?”

“So will you go back to America?” Betsy asked.

“I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do at the moment. I’m too upset to think straight. I suppose I might go up to Scotland or over to Ireland. Anywhere to get away from here.”

“So now we’ll never finish testing my psychic abilities, will we?” Betsy said.

Emmy turned around to her and placed her hand over Betsy’s. “Listen, kiddo, you have already proved that you have awesome powers. That dream—you were right on. Don’t give up now, okay? See if they can still work with you at the center. At least they’ll be in touch with others in the psychic community. You’ll need to learn how to make those powers work for you.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Betsy said. “Couldn’t you stay and help me?”

“Don’t ask me to stay here. I just can’t.” Emmy shook her head violently, then she added, “Besides, I’m an academic. I can test people and measure ability, that’s all. You need to work with another psychic.”

“Don’t go yet,” Betsy begged. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That something else bad is going to happen.”

“Do you feel that, Betsy?” Emmy asked.

“Yes.”

“Then stop working at that place, Betsy,” Evan said. “Go back to your old job, for heaven’s sake.”

“Of course she shouldn’t go back to her old job,” Emmy said angrily. “Would you have advised Michaelangelo to stick to painting houses?” She spun around to Betsy again. “But I’ll be here a few more days. I’ll need to talk to my professor and decide what to do next. He’ll understand that I can’t go on working here. I really think the best thing for me right now is to go home, to the States—to regroup.”

Evan parked the car outside Mrs. Williams’s cottage. Mrs. Williams already had the front door open by the time they were getting out of the car.

“What on earth has been happening?” she demanded. “Running off in the middle of the night like that! I’ve been worried sick. Come inside, all of you. You look dreadful, Betsy fach. White as a sheet, and so do you, Miss Court. I’ve got the kettle on the boil and the bacon cooked in the over … .”

She ushered them into the house, like a sheepdog rounding up sheep. Evan turned down the offer of breakfast somewhat reluctantly, claiming that he had to check his messages at the police station and look in on Bronwen. He found that he was glad to have made his escape. This was all too much emotion for him. He went into the police station, found no messages, then set off for the schoolhouse. He could hear the voices of children chanting their twelve times table as he crossed the playground. Was that a good sign? Did it mean she was back in class with them? Then the door of Bronwen’s living quarters—a gray stone cottage attached to one end of the school building—opened and Evan was amazed to see Mrs. Powell-Jones, the minister’s wife, come out.

“Ah, Constable Evans. I don’t think you should go in there now.” She put up her hand to stop him.

“Why? What’s wrong?”