Trelawney raised his eyebrows.
‘That sounds startling. No wonder you woke up.’
‘Yes, and I’m wondering if it’s been set off by where we’re going. Maybe I’m picking up something?’
‘Could be. Although, we don’t yet know anything about this story about Lucy that Mike’s going to tell us.’
‘True.’ Amanda looked over her shoulder at Tempest.
The furry heap of storm greys was enthroned on a tiger-print velvet blanket, citrine stare aglitter. Nearing the Tamar River, the ancient border between Kernow, the land of Cornwall, and the rest of Britain, Amanda’s feline familiar was on proximity alert.
The yellow of his eyes was echoed by the golden flecks in Amanda’s own blue gaze: flecks that expanded into islands, then continents, of brown around her pupils, when in the presence of magic. It was a tell she went to some lengths to conceal with glasses when necessary. It was easy enough in her furniture restoration workshop, where she wore close work lenses anyway. But that cosy retreat was getting further and further away, as they crossed the miles from her beloved village of Sunken Madley, sitting snugly amidst the trees near the Hertfordshire border.
‘How close are we to the crossing?’ Amanda asked.
‘Only a few miles.’
Long ago, Granny and Grandpa had made her promise never to cross the River without them. Although they were in vulgar parlance ‘dead’, they made sure to visit from the plane of existence they now inhabited, whenever Amanda had need of their counsel or company.
Consequently, Senara Cadabra, née Cardiubarn, could now be observed seated bolt upright on the back seat, tucking a hairpin more tightly into her white victory roll. She and Perran Cadabra, a tall, grey-haired, mild-mannered man, were flanking Tempest. Granny and Tempest were pointedly ignoring one another, as they did whenever possible. He had still never forgiven Senara, in particular, for dragging him into reincarnation on that long malodorous night when Amanda was fifteen. Perran had had just as much to do with it, but Tempest considered Senara to be the instigator, and that was that.
Amanda smiled at them, then opened the window a little. Her heightened senses detected the aroma of Dartmoor to the right, the north, the sight and sound of gulls in the distance, and the tang of the sea from The Channel to the south. Trelawney slowed down with the change in speed limit, well in advance of the crossing, opening his own window and letting the fresh air ruffle his suitably short, light brown hair.
Before them, it reared up, the towering verticals of the Tamar Bridge suspended across the expanse between Plymouth to the east and Saltash to the west. There was the sign:
Kernow a’gas dynergh – Welcome to Cornwall.
They were across. There was a ripple in the ether. Amanda Cadabra had returned to the home shores of her birth. Whoever was left of the Cardiubarn and Flamgoyne witch-clans felt it, knew it, and stirred uneasily.
Only a few miles south of the A38, which they now travelled, was a smaller road, a road with a treacherous bend. Amanda had been adopted by her loving grandparents after the assassination of the rest of her extremely unpleasant family, the Cardiubarns. They had met their end in a minibus that had crashed on the Cornish rocks beneath the sharp curve in the road. It was that unsolved multiple murder that had brought the inspector into the lives of the Cadabras. The case was only very recently resolved.
Now he and Amanda were on their way to see Former Chief Inspector Hogarth, Trelawney’s mentor and friend and her honorary uncle. Because it was time. Time to hear it:
Lucy’s story.
Chapter 2
What’s The Story?
On the western edge of the town of Parhayle, the coast road narrowed into a lane. Trelawney parked at the last of three modest bungalows nestled behind a hedgerow.
‘Ah, home,’ said Amanda, who had stayed in Gwel an Donn before.
'View of the waves, yes?’ asked Trelawney, whose Cornish had some way to go towards being as good as Amanda's.
‘Pretty much, although waves plural would be tonnow”. The point is the cottage does have a lovely gwel — view — of the sea. Please, thank your father for letting me use it again.’
Once inside, Tempest promptly located the warmest spot in the sitting-room, the most comfortable chair in the entire cottage, and the deepest pillow in the bedroom. The contents of the fridge and cupboards were clearly felt to be wanting, until Amanda fulfilled her role of devoted attendant. She duly unloaded her small cool bag of gravadlax, and put the cans of Ortiz Bonito Del Norte tuna and the packet of Marks and Spencer’s roast chicken on the shelves. Kyt Trelawney, the inspector’s father and owner of a thriving holiday cottage business, had thoughtfully provided coconut milk, knowing that dairy was no friend to Amanda’s asthma.
While she was unpacking her suitcase in the larger of the two bedrooms, Trelawney, in the sitting-room, received a call. Shortly, he joined her with the news.
‘That was your Uncle Mike.’
‘Oh? Everything all right?’
‘There’s been a development — unspecified — and he’s going to be busy during each day. He said we’re to come for dinner every evening.’
‘Ah. Ok. Yes, of course.’ Amanda was a little dismayed by the abrupt change in plan. However, she saw that the bright side was that the inspector would have more time to finish up immediate tasks in Parhayle. He was being reassigned to Sunken Madley, where she was about to be employed as his consultant. ‘Well, it does mean you can attend to things at the station.’
‘There’s nothing that I can’t postpone,’
‘When is the last time you had a holiday?’ Amanda enquired teasingly, having a reasonably accurate idea of the answer. Trelawney laughed.
‘Fair point, but I’m sure I could
