"The cottage was meant for someone like you, Midge." I pushed away branches blocking our path. "Don't ask me why, I can't give you any sensible answers. All I can guess is that there's something inside you that's attuned to whatever magic there is in Gramarye."
She pulled me to a halt.
"Magic?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, I'm embarrassed. But what else can I call it? Remember the bird with the broken wing? We kidded ourselves that it couldn't have been as badly hurt as we'd thought when we found it flying around the kitchen the next day. And all those other little things. The flowers that sprang up, the animals and birds that flocked around the door. That isn't normal—we just adjusted ourselves to make it seem that way. Maybe some kind of relationship with the wildlife could have been built up after a few years— but right away?"
I started walking again and she hurried to keep up.
"The cottage itself. Look at all those things that were wrong with it—the warped doors, rotted wood, the cracked lintel! O'Malley didn't fix those things. They fixed themselves, for Chrissake! Because of you!"
My voice reverberated around the forest. I stopped again to look at her.
"And, yeah, my arm. We thought Mycroft had healed the burns, but now I don't think it was him at all. Sure, he's got some kind of power—we've just had a demonstration of that. But that's from his head, it's what he makes people believe! He convinced me. my arm didn't hurt any more—maybe that liquid he used helped somehow—and something got the better of my skepticism. Shit, who wants to hurt if they don't have to? But my guess is that you were the one who really healed it. No—you and Gramarye. You're a goddamn team! Jesus, no wonder Mycroft was interested in you! What a great little catch for his Synergist movement. Human will and Divine Power—you're a living example."
She was watching me and shaking her head, but I could tell by her eyes that she believed what I was saying. A bird fluttered from a tree ahead of us and we turned to watch nervously. A section of leaves had been left swaying and we stood there until they'd steadied themselves. The forest became still once more and we noticed the gloom was weighing heavier.
"Are we on the right path?" I asked Midge, looking every-which-way.
For a moment she was uncertain; then she nodded. "There should be a branch-off soon. We take the righthand fork."
"If you say so," I said grimly.
We moved on, keeping to a fast walk, ears and eyes open. Sometimes there's a hush in a forest when the light's on dimmer that's almost churchlike, where a cough or even a whisper seems irreverently loud; I kept my voice low, not wishing to disturb anyone.
"I can't help wondering what went on between old Flora and Mycroft, why she went to the trouble of putting that clause in her Will barring him from ever taking possession of Gramarye. What difference would it have made to her once she was gone? And why the hell did he lie to us about never having been there unless he had something to do with her death?"
"You really think they tried to frighten her into selling?"
"I think they succeeded in frightening her so much it killed her. We've seen for ourselves what Mycroft's mental powers are capable of. Making rabbits and rats appear out of thin air is nothing to him. Wine? I bet I could've drunk the stuff without realizing it was an illusion. And making us believe he could bend light beams. He's ace, Midge, a numero uno illusionist. I hate to consider what he might have made that poor old lady imagine. A tiger on the doorstep? The kitchen on fire around her? Her own heart crumbling to dust inside her chest? He wouldn't have had to lay a finger on her."
"I don't believe she was that helpless, Mike."
"Matter of fact, neither do I. She'd have put up quite a struggle, but then her age was against her. Maybe her old heart just gave up of its own accord."
We'd reached the fork in the track and I stepped aside to let Midge take the lead. "It's up to you, Chingachgook. You've got the nose for direction. You sure it's right?"
"If we don't come across a fallen cedar on the path within two minutes then you'll know I got it wrong."
"I remember. It's lying head-down in a gulley."
"That's the one."
She went ahead of me and I followed her slim form through the forest, our footsteps never slackening for a moment, both of us eager to be out in the open as soon as possible. I didn't like the feel of the woods and the way Midge constantly looked around her instead of straight at the path in front; neither did she. And although we'd left the Synergists far behind, the prickly sensation of being followed was still with me.
Midge pointed and I saw the dead tree about a hundred yards further along. We broke into a trot as though the barrier were a goal to be reached, and our footfalls were mushy-loud in the stillness. I caught sight of a tawny owl, perched high on a branch and watching us with aloof interest, lids occasionally descending like camera shutters over the big round eyes as if recording the event.
Midge collapsed against the rough bark of the tree and I collapsed against her.
"Best we keep going," I advised, breathing heavy and slumping onto the trunk.
She ran her hands down her face, continuing down her neck. "Was it them, Mike? Or was that just Mycroft's trickery too? Their voices . . . they sounded so much like . . ."
I hesitated before answering. "I'm pretty sure it began as a fake. But later on . . . hell, I don't know what happened later on."
"At the end it was my parents. I know it was them! Their warning brought me to my senses. Everything I'd believed about Mycroft just fell away . . ."
I slid over the tree trunk and extended an arm back for her. "There's too much to think about for now, Midge. Let's just get back to the cottage while we can still see our way."
She scrambled over and took time to kiss my neck before we hurried on. I don't think I'd have found my way back without her, the trail was becoming so dim; but she kept on, only occasionally stopping to examine a choice of direction or a particular landmark (a cluster of red toadstools beneath another, virtually hollowed, fallen tree was the only one I recognized). My back was damp with sweat and a stiffness was developing in my thighs; ahead of me, Midge was beginning to falter, her steps losing rhythm.
Our nervousness hadn't abated either, and when a huge white-streaked shape blundered across the path we both nearly jumped out of our skins. The badger was equally alarmed and quickly scooted into the bushes on the other side of the track; we watched and heard the animal's progress as he bludgeoned his way through the undergrowth, foliage shaking violently as he went.
Further along I tripped over a creeper or root that I hadn't noticed Midge hop over, going down heavily and sprawling on the earth. I gasped in air as she knelt beside me, her hand gripping me beneath an arm in an effort to lift. I rose unsteadily and stood there, bent like an old man, one hand on my knee, the other on Midge's shoulder.
"How much further?" I asked in between labored intakes of breath.
Her features weren't clear, so shaded had they become, and she sounded almost as breathless as me. "It can't be too far—we've come a long way."
"Yeah, about a hundred miles. You ok—?"
The shadow I saw as I straightened was nothing more than a tall bush shaped like a cowled figure, lurking behind a tree. The sighing I heard was nothing more than a newly born breeze passing through the leaves. The thumping in my chest was nothing more than my own heartbeat.
"Christ, I've got the jitters," I admitted.
Her voice was soft. "Are we dreaming all this?"
"My bruised knees say no. My head's not so sure."
Now arm in arm, squeezed together by the narrow track, we carried on the journey, not caring that movement was awkward in this manner, needing the closeness for mutual encouragement and to keep the wood spooks away. Darkness had settled into the forest like smoke in a lung.