The Language Of Spells Part 10

'Your sister said she didn't know where you were.'

'She was telling the truth.'

'How did you do that?' Cam still wasn't looking at her. 'Just leave everybody. Not just me: your whole family, your whole life. Didn't you miss it?'

'No,' Gwen lied.

They stood like that, almost touching, sipping their drinks and watching the flowers and vines writhing over each other.

After another couple of hits of her wine, Gwen was beginning to see figures in the pattern. The writhing was beginning to look distinctly suggestive. She stepped away from Cam and backed out of the room. 'Let's sit down.'

The kitchen would be better. The kitchen was bright and clean and didn't have p.o.r.nographic wallpaper. They sat at the table and Gwen opened the cake tin.

Cam pulled a face. 'Not with booze.'

'It's dark fruit cake. Got enough brandy in it to sink a s.h.i.+p.'

She watched as he took a bite and then realised that she was just staring at his mouth. He swallowed and she had the impulse to lean over and smell his neck. Oh, sweet Jesus.

Cam put the cake down and took a long drink of his wine. He looked tense again. 'Why did you think you had to leave? I thought everything was fine-' He broke off. Shook his head slightly. 'Actually, forget I asked. I don't want to know. It's in the past now.'

Before Gwen could react, Cam said, 'So. Tell me what you've been up to for thirteen years.'

Gwen blinked at the change. Okay.

'Come on,' Cam said, leaning forwards and fixing her with a look of total focus, 'I'm interested. Really.'

The look seemed sincere and, for once, he wasn't scowling at her, so she did. She sipped her wine and told him about her work. She talked about Curious Notions and how she'd started out by selling her own creations and then, in the course of seeking out vintage miniatures for her shadow boxes, she'd started to pick up loads of other cool pieces and decided to put them on the stall too. 'I was just messing about, really. Killing time while I worked out what I was really going to do with my life and then, one day, I saw this silk scarf.'

Cam's eyes glazed over slightly.

'Stick with me. This was a thing of beauty.'

'Scarf. Beautiful. Got it.'

'This obnoxious guy had it on his stall in an antiques fair in Peterborough. He knew it was a Missoni and had it priced up accordingly, but as soon as I touched it I knew it was the last of its kind.'

'You knew it?' Cam frowned.

Gwen was too excited, reliving her moment of triumph, to care that she sounded crazy. 'It was such a rush. I bought it and put it on my stall. Sold it for ten times what I paid for it.' It was one of the moments when the Harper family intuition had seemed like a blessing rather than a curse.

'Wow.' Cam straightened up. Suddenly interested. 'So there's money in this-' he paused '...stuff.'

'I know it probably looks like junk to you, but I love it. Some people hate the idea of secondhand, but I love the history, the hunt, the way everything is unique. It's so much more interesting than the same boring ma.s.s-produced c.r.a.p that everyone else has bought from Argos.'

'I don't buy things in Argo,.' Cam said.

'Not you. You're rich. I mean normal people,' Gwen said. 'Anyway, you just buy things in the expensive version of Argos. It's still not individual or anything.'

'I see,' Cam said politely.

Gwen put her gla.s.s down carefully and said, 'What about you?'

'Not much to tell. Paperwork. Court. Paperwork. Court.'

'You don't like it?'

He shrugged. 'Actually, I kind of do. I like the puzzles and I like the challenge. I like arguing and I like winning.'

Gwen smiled. 'I still can't quite get used to the idea of you as a lawyer. I mean, you were in a punk band. Weren't you going to go to London?'

'I did,' Cam said, suddenly serious.

'What happened?'

Cam drained his gla.s.s and poured another. 'I'm sorry about the other day. In the car. I just wasn't ready to-' He broke off and ran a hand through his hair, 'I don't know. Jesus. I just wasn't ready to talk to you, I suppose. Do you still want to hear about your aunt?'

Gwen jerked back to the present.' Yes. I do. Yes, please.'

Cam settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. After a moment he said, 'Don't take this the wrong way, but she was kind of odd.'

Gwen stiffened. Odd. That was one of the many words used to describe her family over the years.

Cam opened his eyes and looked right at her. 'She was a very strong person. She told the truth. If someone was in need, she always tried to help. Always.'

'Oh.' Gwen swallowed. That sounded better.

'She wasn't a tactful person. Didn't suffer fools gladly.'

'I've never understood that phrase,' Gwen broke in. She waved her gla.s.s. 'Who does suffer fools gladly? Some kind of fool-fancier?'

Cam ignored her. 'She put a lot of people's backs up. Didn't play the politics game. I heard that when the police chief's wife went to see her, Iris insulted her shoes.'

'I thought she helped people?'

'Oh she did,' Cam said. 'You just couldn't be too choosy about the kind of help you got.'

Gwen opened her mouth to say something about people in general being too choosy for their own good, when she heard knocking.

Cam raised his eyebrows. 'Expecting someone?'

Gwen sighed. 'Increasingly, yes.'

She opened the door with a sense of resignation.

The woman on her doorstep was clutching a blue dog bowl with a cartoon-style bone engraved on the side. 'Are you Gwen Harper?'

Gwen nodded.

'Oh, thank G.o.d. I'm Helen Brewer.' The woman tucked the bowl under one arm and stuck out her hand. She had brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and looked older than Gwen. Although Gwen always a.s.sumed people were older than her. Ruby would probably tell her it was down to her essential immaturity. Arrested development and all that.

Gwen shook it. 'Can I help you?'

'I hope so. Please.'

'I suppose you want to come in,' Gwen said, stepping back.

'I'm sorry to interrupt.' Helen peered at Cam curiously. 'Are you busy?'

'Yes,' Cam said.

'I'm always busy,' Gwen said. 'In fact, I might have that engraved on the back door.'

'Well,' Helen put the dog bowl on the table, 'this won't take long, I hope. If I don't find Archie before Christopher gets back, he's going to kill me. He loves that dog.'

'Christopher?'

'My son. He's coming home from university for the weekend. He's studying chemical engineering in Cardiff. It's a very difficult course.'

'I have no doubt.' Gwen tried to send a sorry about this look in Cam's direction but he was too busy sending death rays at Helen. She refocused on the woman. 'Did you say your dog is missing?'

'Yes, I haven't seen him since yesterday morning.' Helen pulled out a small rectangle and pa.s.sed it to Gwen. It was a picture of a Highland Terrier taken in a photo booth, Helen Brewer's hands just visible holding him up.

'This is his bowl.'

'Not yours?' Cam asked.

'No.' Helen frowned at him, leaning to one side while she struggled to pull something out of her coat pocket. 'This is his favourite toy.' She put the object onto the table and Gwen stifled the urge to laugh. What had once been a reproduction Spitting Image Margaret Thatcher was now nose-less and ravaged.

'Archie has excellent taste,' Cam said, draining his gla.s.s.

'Why have you brought this stuff?'

Helen frowned. 'Don't you need them? I heard that Iris did something. Maybe set fire to them and the smoke forms an arrow and points to where Archie is hiding-' She caught sight of Gwen's expression and broke off. 'Or something.'

'You can't burn that,' Cam said. 'It'll give off toxic fumes.'

'Maybe you get a chemical burn in the shape of an arrow,' Gwen said. She was trying very hard to ignore the fact that she could help. Probably.

Helen narrowed her eyes. 'Are you going to help or not? I can pay you.'

Gwen took a breath and tried to formulate a nice way of saying no and you are insane. 'Have you asked your neighbours? Put up posters?'

'No one has seen him. I've been along the streets and asked people to check their garages and sheds, in case he got trapped.' Helen was fumbling in her pocket. She brought out a couple of twenty-pound notes.

Gwen tried not to think about how much she needed that money. 'I don't think I can,' she said. 'I'm sorry; perhaps-' Gwen reached out to poke the chew toy. The instant her finger connected with the rubber surface, images exploded behind her eyes. A pink carpet close to her nose, as if she were lying down, although she was moving very fast, her back legs straining to clear a height. Going up a step and another and another, the pink carpet sharp-smelling with a base note of wood and newspaper. She jerked her hand back and stared wide-eyed at Cam and Helen.

'All right there, Jumpy?' Cam said.

She focused on him. Solid, normal, legally trained Cam. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't asking her to cure chilblains or solve marital problems. He looked perplexed and mildly amused by Helen Brewer. He belonged to the normal world. The one she wanted to join.

'What's wrong?' Helen said. 'If you can't do this, I need to get back home and carry on looking. He's out there, all alone-'

'Pink carpet.' d.a.m.n it.

'What?'

Gwen reached out and touched Maggie's chin. She was more prepared this time and tried to concentrate, tried to interpret the images that flashed into her mind like a jerky film reel. More pink carpet, flat now, though, maybe the landing. A glossy white surface rising from the pink, a corner. Gwen saw a grey leg with a paw stretched out pulling at the corner of the door, heard the scratching noise. Then sickness. .h.i.t. She launched herself away from the table, making it to the sink just in time. She lost her cake and her red wine with grim efficiency, then became aware of a hand on her lower back. Cam reached across and ran the cold tap, filling a gla.s.s of water and putting it into her hand.

'Sorry,' she said, hot with sickness and embarra.s.sment. Glamorous, Gwen. Really attractive. She washed away the evidence and reached under the sink for some bleach, the clean smell turning her stomach over.

'Come and sit down,' Cam said. 'Do that later.'

'What's wrong?' Helen said. 'No one said anything about sick.'

'Do you have pink carpet on your stairs and landing?'

'Yes.' Helen looked astonished. 'How did you know?'

'Archie's in your house.'

'No.' Helen shook her head. 'Not possible. I've checked.'

'Go check again.' Cam said. 'Gwen's not well.'

'Don't fob me off,' Helen said. Then she began to cry.

'Christ's sake.' Cam said.

Gwen, deciding she wasn't going to be sick again after all, reached over and patted her on the shoulder. 'I'll come to your house and find Archie. He's definitely there. I promise.' Gwen hadn't felt a Finding as strong since she was a teenager. She hadn't been fond of the nausea then, and it hadn't improved with time.

'Thank you.' Helen gave her a thin smile, her tears drying. 'I'm sorry, I'm not usually a weeper.'

'I can see that,' Gwen said. 'Come on then. Let's get this over with.'

'I'll drive,' Cam said and picked up his coat and car keys.

Helen Brewer lived in a neat two-bed starter home on a new estate. As they walked up the front path, Gwen leading with Helen on her heels and Cam bringing up the rear and making smart comments, Gwen tried to ignore her discomfort. What was she doing in the middle of some woman's lost dog drama? It was insane. She didn't do things like this. Not any more. She didn't join in. She had a comfortable seat on the sidelines and that was how she liked it. h.e.l.l, even the sidelines were a little too close for comfort.

The front door opened onto a narrow hallway, made even narrower by the fussy console table with a dried flower arrangement on top. The laminate floor stopped at the stairs, taken over by a dusky rose carpet that Gwen recognised. She swallowed. She'd forgotten just how weird a strong Finding felt. The sane and sensible part of her brain was feebly trying to say it could be a coincidence. That small stubborn voice of rationality was wittering about wine drunk too quickly and dumb luck. She wasn't listening to the sane part, though, she was listening to the tiny voice that was telling her to climb the stairs.

She was vaguely aware of Helen and Cam's voices. 'Stay down here,' she said. 'Go and sit down.'

'Well I never,' Helen said.

Gwen ignored her and walked up the stairs. There was the short landing and there was the door. She didn't even glance at the others, knowing instantly which was the right one. She pushed it open, feeling herself acting as if in a trance, and walked into a bedroom. It looked as if Laura Ashley had thrown up over it: floral wallpaper, bedspread, rug, cus.h.i.+ons, and a flounced pink valance. She knew even before she dropped to her knees and lifted the material that she would see Archie and, sure enough, there he was. Pressed into the far corner was a bundle of grey and white fur and a pair of black s.h.i.+ning eyes.

'Hey, Archie,' Gwen said, keeping her voice low and soothing. 'That's a good boy.'