Page 9 of Dark Desire
“It’s always mayhem out there on St Wythren’s day. Spare them no notice,” Evie said from behind me, typing away. I took another sip from the plastic lid.
“Perhaps I should offer to help. There seems to be so much to do.” The village barely looked any different. Just…messy.
“I wouldn’t get involved if I were you, love. Everything has to be just so, and if it’s not, well, all hell breaks loose. Oh, darn it!”
Turning around, I made my way over to Evie’s side as she glared at the computer screen that had frozen once again. She whacked the side of the ancient machine with her hand repeatedly and groaned when it didn’t make an ounce of difference. Spinning in her swivel chair, she turned to the socket, switched it off, and started her lucky count to thirty before bringing the thing back to life. I tried to hide my amusement, as this was the third time I had seen her do this today. I had to hand it to her; the woman had endless perseverance.
“Don’t say it!” Evie scolded, lifting one finger at me before shaking out her arms and starting to type again. “I’ve had a longer relationship with this thing than both my previousmarriages combined. Clive and I go way back, and I won’t trade him in for a younger, newer model.”
I sensed some bitterness in her tone and pressed my lips together. I was fairly certain this wasn’t about Clive the Computer, but rather her latest ex-husband’s infidelity, though I knew when to keep my opinions to myself.
“Are you okay with the brief for tonight?” Evie asked as I picked up her handwritten notes on the images she needed to accompany the article she would write about St. Wythren’s Day.
“Sure thing. I’m actually quite looking forward to seeing all the traditional celebrations brought to life. I think it’ll be fun.” I smiled as she rolled her eyes.
“Fun? No. No. It will be loud, cramped and lacklustre. However, Sarah has hired some acting tour group to re-enact the witch hunts, so that should be interesting. Though I’m not holding out much hope that it’ll be an Oscar-worthy performance.”
I forced a smile and sat at my desk, fiddling with my camera and wiping the lenses. This was one of the reasons I was here. St Wythren’s had a long history as a meeting place for witches centuries ago. On the night of the solstice, which was tonight, they would often perform magic, sometimes involving sacrifices and forbidden spells.
On this night six hundred years ago, they were ambushed by the local people who had been suspicious of their witchcraft and burned them all at the stake, supposedly freeing the village of their evil intentions, or so the legends say. Of course, most villagers nowadays doubted that witches actually existed and believed that those women who were burned alive were simply tragic ladies who enjoyed dancing around fires, chanting, and getting high on nature’s psychedelics. It was a prime example of how fear of the misunderstood could shape history.
Little did the villagers know, they still had a witch in their company. Winter solstice has always been one of the most sacred nights for the magical. It was a rare night when our powers were heightened as the sun reached its lowest point of the year and the longest night stretched ahead. And tonight, I would need to call on the powers of those scorned witches to complete one of the most dangerous and forbidden spells ever cast. The thought terrified me, but I had no other choice. I was growing desperate. I alone could not summon enough power to contact a god, but I had never belonged to a coven that I could call upon for support or harness their powers. Had I longed for the security, friendship, and magical education a coven could offer? Of course. But because of my rare abilities, I was safer alone. I was so used to living among non-magical humans and concealing my true identity that sometimes I could almost pretend I was one of them.
I liked it here. I enjoyed the quirky people and the creepy church on top of the hill. I liked the bustle of the village on Sundays and the quiet solitude it offered during the week. It wasn’t the most exciting place to live, but that suited me perfectly. I was tired of running from place to place. What was the point? I’d always be found eventually. So, I accepted my fate and my punishment. But I couldn’t die without making things right. It would be my final act, and then I’d be free from the guilt.
There was an unbearable pressure building in my chest. I lifted my hand and tried to rub it away, massaging in slow circles. Opening my laptop, I clicked on the most recent folder and loaded the picture I had taken yesterday morning. It seemed to instantly calm me. It really was a masterpiece of serenity. The calming sea was cocooned by rugged, sharp rocks, and in the middle of the frame, a single form of a man floated on the surface, his dark red hair sprayed around him like trickling blood. A bit morbid, I know. But beautiful. So goddamnbeautiful. I took the photograph before he knew I was there. I promised myself I’d delete it if he was offended or didn’t want his photo taken but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I think it was one of my favourite images I’d ever shot. And I’ve taken a lot.
I focused on the man’s form, my eyes tracing the peak of his muscular chest just above the water, along with his thick throat and angular jaw tilted back. There appeared to be some scars on his chest and face, though I couldn’t be certain it wasn’t just sunlight reflecting off his skin. His face wasn’t very clear in the picture, but that didn’t matter. It was etched in my mind anyway. The moment he lifted himself to give me his attention, I swear I experienced one of those rare ‘Holy Fucking Shit How Is This Man Real?’ moments. It’s unusual to see anyone under forty in this village, let alone someone as incredibly attractive as him. He was too far away for me to discover his eye colour or how sharp his cheekbones were, but I knew without doubt he’d be even more impressive up close.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair as I stared at the picture. Who was he? What was he doing here in sleepy St Wythren’s? And more importantly, where the hell was he now? I made a mental promise to myself that if I were to see him again, I wouldn’t act like a fool and mess things up so badly next time. I was out of practice. It had been far too long since I’d found anyone remotely attractive, let alone had a bloody good shag. Life had been a little… distracting lately. But if I was about to die soon, I might as well get my rocks off one last time. And damn, I wanted it to be with this hulk of burning hotness.
Deciding I had nothing to lose, I pressed my palms together, closed my eyes and made a silent prayer to Hecate, Goddess of Magic, to drop that man into my lap or vice versa.
“What are you doing?” Evie asked, completely taken aback by my sudden religious act.
“Praying for a hot man to fall into my hands, Evie.”
She snorted. “I’ll take one too if the man up above is feeling generous.”
She meant woman. Sorry, Hecate.
The ping of the door opening made me jump, and my heart leapt into my throat. Had she heard my prayer and sent me the greatest fuck of my–
“Good afternoon, ladies,” said the older man with a moustache that curved at the sides, making him look like the Cheshire cat even without smiling. I deflated.
Not who I had in mind, Goddess.
“PC Mawdly, what can I do for you?” Evie stood up to greet him just as a woman stepped in behind him. It was only then that I realised they were both wearing local police uniforms. My spine straightened as I gave them both a tight smile.
“Actually, it’s not you that we are interested in speaking to, Evie. But I would love a cuppa if you’re offering.” PC Mawdly’s brown eyes swept over to me as he leaned back on the heels of his shoes and placed his hand on his hip. “We’d like to speak to this young lady here. If that’s alright with you?”
He was speaking to me. Looking at me. My eyes had bulged. My throat had closed.Shit. Shit. Shit. Act innocent. This couldn’t be about the fae that attacked me last night, who I then buried in the graveyard. How would they know?
“Of course,” I found my voice from deep beneath the hysterical panic that was building within. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Both officers approached my desk, looking me over with quiet suspicion, and I swallowed thickly. “I’m Officer Mawdly and this is Officer Blaid. And you are Darcelle Knightsbridge?”
Why did he make my name sound like a trick question?
