overzealous social worker had found out a surefire way to check for sexual abuse? A whole community on the islands was forced to lose their children into care for years. Some of them still haven’t been returned even when the woman was shown to be wrong, so wrong.
‘I thought I was waiting for my chance to ride onto Kulsay on my white horse and save the day. Only it’s night, not day, I haven’t ridden a horse in over twenty years, and I’m scared to investigate anymore. I’m frightened of what I’m going to find.’
McKinley shifted his legs on the grass, where he was sprawled out as if at a leisurely picnic. ‘I used to be like you,’ he said.
‘What? White?’ Bayliss said.
A shadowy smile that touched his eyes showed McKinley took no offense. ‘No, scared. I thought too much. Before any investigation, any possible haunting, I used to wonder, what if it gets me this time? What if it wants me and I’m not strong enough to stop it? Then I realized what the
Bayliss looked at the night-black face and was impressed by the calmness contained in the features. Whether the control went further than skin deep he couldn’t tell but it was impressive to even appear relaxed under their circumstances. ‘Go on then; what was your
McKinley grunted, a kind of resigned acceptance. ‘My own limitations. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to handle what ever was thrown at me. I was limiting my actions by imagining boundaries. Once you realize you can take on anything, if you react in the right way nothing should be able to restrict you.’
‘I didn’t take you for the “positive thought conquers all” type.’
McKinley shook his head. ‘It’s not that. It’s being open to all possibilities once you’re in a situation. Don’t let fear or convention put shackles on your ability to improvise and take effective action.’
Bayliss let out a long drawn-out sigh. ‘Sounds fine, except for one thing.’
Carter had been listening to what they were saying, and it was him who said, ‘What thing?’
Bayliss stood and looked at the trees and their suffocating blackness. ‘You three have abilities to help you handle what we might come across; I don’t.’
‘Just use your sarcasm,’ Kirby smiled. ‘That’ll get them every time.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Carter only had a vague idea where the abandoned church was; so as they set out they took it slowly and carefully. After what they had experienced already they were wary of every step they took, fearful the ground might open up in front of them. Nervous the night might swallow them and they would join the legion of the lost.
There was something else that scared Carter. Since Jane had gone he couldn’t concentrate. He had nearly paid the penalty for that inside the house. However hard he tried he couldn’t shake thoughts of Jane out of his head. It was as if she had lodged there like a physical entity, stopping him from thinking clearly. He tried to picture the church in his mind to pinpoint its location, and all he could see was Jane in her wedding dress running back down the aisle, away from the altar and the priest, running from her husband; returning to Carter. It wouldn’t happen now, and probably never would have.
He edged his way through the bracken beneath the trees and in his imagination he was walking hand in hand with Jane through a wood of dappled sunlight, the branches letting the rays of the sun filter through softly, like sifting flour through a sieve. Her loss was a dull ache inside him and he realized that the years he had spent without her had been a huge mistake; a loss he would never be able to recover.
‘How much further do you think?’ Kirby asked, and her voice brought him back to the present, to reality. Jane had gone and he would never see her again. The others, the remaining three people relied on him. Sure, McKinley and Kirby had powers they could use, although Bayliss didn’t. But even with their combined skills Carter knew they were in for one hell of a battle.
‘Robert?’ Kirby prompted. She was behind him, with Bayliss behind her, and McKinley bringing up the rear.
‘We’ve gone east since the house, and we’ve been walking about fifteen minutes. By rights it should be just ahead.’ It was difficult to see clearly in the dark, although the moon was almost full and lent enough light to see the trees and the shadows around them.
‘He’s right,’ Bayliss said. ‘I passed it on my way to the Manse, and I recognize these rocks.’ He pointed to a linear formation of granite rocks on the perimeter of a small clearing. ‘I think these were some early form of staging post. Marking the route from the crofters’ village to their place of worship.’
Carter bent and examined the larger of the rocks. ‘These predate the crofters. These are more the kind of markers that lined the early indicators for the Leys.’
McKinley looked behind, back through the trees. ‘I guess we thought the ley lines you were talking about centered on the house, seeing as that’s where deMarco spent his time. What if we were wrong? The ley lines converge on the church?’
Standing and stretching, Carter said, ‘Many churches are built on ancient sites of worship. Most can be traced back beyond even their earliest apparent architecture. In England, don’t forget, those are Protestant places of worship. The Catholic churches are much more modern affairs, and they get built wherever local council planning permission can be granted.’
‘So the ley lines are nothing to do with it?’ Kirby said.
Carter shook his head. ‘On the contrary; the ley lines are how the Jesuits travel from Rome to wherever they’re needed.’
Bayliss sat on one of the rocks. He looked tired. ‘Physically travel along them you mean?’
‘Absolutely,’ Carter said. ‘I’ve traced them over Britain, through Europe, even across the Atlantic.’
McKinley whistled softly. ‘The U.S.?’
Carter nodded. ‘Probably further afield than that; Asia, China…I didn’t have the time to research it for long enough.’
‘And the church here on Kulsay is a key point of the ley lines that converge from Rome…and where else? Much as I’d love to believe my precious island is the cornerstone of all that defines evil…’ Bayliss said. He was fighting for more energy, a second wind so he could keep up with the others.
Kirby smiled at him. Despite her better judgment she liked the sarcastic Scot.
‘Believe it, Bayliss,’ Carter said. ‘What we’re going up against is going to make everything you’ve found out about your island seem like a stroll in the park.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A few minutes after they left the clearing, a few minutes more walking through the trees in the dark, the contours of the ground changed and rough scree replaced the spare grass and coarse thistle. The land dipped away before lifting in an embankment that rose up like the gentle swell of a wave at sea.
Here lay the ruined walls of the old church. Dull green ivy crawled over the damaged walls, righteousness reclaiming its devotion. Pale blue heather dotted the doorway as if it were confetti after a wedding, although it had been a long time since this place had witnessed happiness. An air of sadness hung over the whole area, a desolation that might be annotated on a Victorian mezzotint of the scene with the inscription:
‘Can you hear it?’ McKinley said.
Kirby shook her head. ‘I can’t hear a thing.’
‘Exactly. For the past half hour or so we’ve heard an owl, loads of shuffling about in the undergrowth that Carter here told us was foxes, and badgers, and God knows what British wildlife. We heard our own footsteps on the brush, snapping twigs, pushing back branches. Now we can’t even hear our own breathing.’ Bayliss stamped his foot on a thistle. It slumped beneath his boot but there was no sound. They all listened and realized McKinley
