Once. Part 25

'I love you, Thom,' she said quietly and his heart - his soul - soared again.

'But you don't know...' he found himself saying, as if unable to believe her words.

'I do know you,' she said. 'I know you're good and I know you're here to help us.'

He shook his head, unwilling to lose the mood, yet wanting desperately to be honest with her. "What can I possibly do for you, Jennet? Until a couple of days ago I didn't even believe in the existence of your kind. Frankly, I'm not even sure that everything that's happened, including right now, isn't just some grand illusion brought about by damaged brain cells.'

She gave a little laugh. 'You think you're going mad? When I touch you here ...' she leaned forward to touch his chest, her fingers pressing a nipple, and he almost yelped with the pleasure '... you think you're imagining it? And here...' she touched his stomach just above his groin and he drew in a sharp breath '...

and here...' her fingers encircled his engorged p.e.n.i.s and he almost cried out with the ecstasy of it. 'You think it's all in your mind, Thom?

'Jennet...' yes?' Her smile was teasing. And so was her stroking.

'Jennet, this is all impossible.'

yes, Thom.'

'I mean, the faeries and elves, and witches and monsters, and tame animals ...'

'And making love with an undine?' She continued to stroke him, a soft, easy movement that made him shudder with delight.

yeah,' he said, between short breaths. 'Impossible. But then ...' his turn to smile at her '... to h.e.l.l with impossible.'

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, his mouth crushing hers with wild, excited kisses that she returned just as enthusiastically, laughing when together

they fell to the forest floor, their hands feeling each other, their lips seeking other parts - shoulders, b.r.e.a.s.t.s, any part of each other's body that was accessible.

She squealed when his tongue made circles around her nipple, and it was with joy; and he groaned when her tongue ran down his chest to his stomach, to linger in his navel, before journeying back up to his mouth. Once more, his hand reached between her legs, this time his fingers entering and becoming moist with her juices. It was Jennet's turn to groan and she arched her neck in a delirium, the feel of his strong fingers inside her wonderful. The tips of her own fingers dug into his back as she pulled him over on top of her, and then he was guiding himself into her, both of them murmuring each other's name and giving out small moans.

Although she was small in stature, his entry was easy and smooth, as though their body parts had been made for each other's, measured and apportioned by whomever planned such things - a silly notion that ran through Thom's head as he thrust so deeply and so effortlessly. She tensed beneath him, then relaxed with a pleased sigh. His hand found her breast and his mouth quickly followed, his back arched, their stomachs apart for a moment as she pulled at his neck, forcing his head down on her. His tongue smothered the nipple there, wetting it, making it grow hard, and when he withdrew his lips he blew air on to the moistened tip so that it swelled, grew even more proud of the fleshly little mound. Thom nuzzled his way over to the other breast to repeat the act and her hips writhed beneath his as she moaned and sighed and gave out small gasps as though she were short of air.

Resting his belly on hers again, Thom moved with her rhythm, the thrusts sometimes long, sometimes shallow, and her hips moved sometimes with him, other times against. Her hands were never still, palms gliding over his back constantly before moving to his b.u.t.tocks, the backs of his

thighs, pulling at him, pressing his flesh, urging deeper entry, then pushing him back, but never too far, never allowing him to leave her completely.

They kissed, and he had to bend his neck for their lips to meet, his hands at her waist, his knee digging into the soft earth; the kiss was emotional for both of them, not just affected by their mutual pa.s.sion, although, in truth, that was part of it. Thom had never loved another before, not in this way. Certainly there had been girlfriends, lovers, but while his affection had always been sincere, he had never been in love with any of them. Now this. Falling fast, even instinctively, with someone who was from another realm. An undine she called herself. As was his mother, Bethan. How could it be true? Yet he knew, he just knew, that it was. And he gave himself up to it.

Jennet was whispering his name in between kisses, imploring him for more, for all he had to give her, and he was not about to deny her. He lunged into her, drew back, lunged again, and suddenly had no concern about anything: just being with her, inside her like this, was so intoxicating that stamina was no longer a problem and neither were questions about her very existence. It was ... it was ... magical. It was magical and for a moment he could not be sure if it was because of the circ.u.mstances, the forest environment, her elfin beauty, her uniqueness, or if it was because of love, genuine, startling, newfound love. He quickly realized it was for all these reasons, but it was what he felt in his heart - no, he chided himself, remembering her words, in his soul - that prevailed above all others. As he plunged even deeper into her, into this mystical girl who had taken on human or part-human form for him alone, he felt his whole being sink with his body, as though her physical opening was the entrance to her realm.

And that was when the magic really began.

He was aware of his own presence there in the forest glade, aware of his own skin as it were, but part of him had

left, perhaps his persona, had travelled further than his intellect had ever before travelled, even in sleep, even in his near-death experience a few months earlier. This was a path journeyed by invitation only, for it took him into dimensions where even dreams did not belong. He was among stars and planets, a universe of white whose constellations glittered all colours and shades, many of those shinings surely never witnessed by mortal man before. Gases hung like gauze or sheer lace - except they were millions of miles in length -swirling among the stars in incredible ever-shifting patterns. There were other smaller shapes in the whiteness, gossamer forms that he instinctively knew were souls - spectres would have been the wrong word, for these were not apparitions, they were real ent.i.ties, forces that were individual, yet somehow making up the whole.

And he, Thom Kindred, for a few brief moments that felt like eternity (for he sensed there was no time here in this place) floated among them, joined them in their euphoric exaltations, feeling their warmth, their peace, their quietude. But most of all he felt their devotion.

Then, having glimpsed the rapture, he hurtled back to the physical, back to the forest, back to the arms of Jennet, and he was stunned by the moment, stunned but not mystified, for he knew what he had witnessed. He knew he had been allowed a glimpse, a privileged insight, of something profound. Thom immediately understood that this had been Jennet's gift to him, that she had taken him to this place, and as tears dampened his eyes, he realized it was not casual, it had some future purpose and it was this thatbecame the new mystery.

'Jennet...' he began to say, wondering about its significance.

'Hush, Thom.' She soothed his neck, his cheek, for he had lifted his face from hers so that he could study her eyes. 'No need for words. Just feel now, Thom. Let your mind and body soar again but together this time.'

And he did. He returned to the physical once more, driving into her, softly at first, then with more and more abandonment. And that was when the faeries joined them.

At first, he just felt their lightness on his bare back, on the flesh of his arms and legs, a brushing sensation that aroused more nerve endings that until then had remained dormant, not part of the lovemaking. These subtle touchings caused him to shiver, but it was with pleasure, as if his skin were exposed to tiny feathers, the faery wings beating against him and the vibrations of minuscule bodies that were comprised of pure energy p.r.i.c.kling his flesh in a kind of tormenting bliss. He moaned with the delectation of it all and Jennet joined in with her own sighs of delight, for the exposed parts of her body were receiving similar attention.

Thom felt the turmoil inside his groin racing towards its peak; it felt as if everything inside his body, every sinew, nerve and all its juices, were being drawn to one central point, to congress and reach a climax that would release incredible energy, power even, in a union that was as giving as it was taking.

He began to cry out loudly, the feeling mounting inside beyond anything he had ever experienced, and Jennet's slender legs closed around him, hugging him tight without restricting his movement. His fingers dug into the forest floor, churning the earth, tearing the gra.s.s, as Jennet raised her hips towards him, almost lifting his body, her strength surprising. Thom burrowed, pushing himself into what seemed like endless depths, unaware that he filled her, that she felt there was no more she could take even though she pleaded for more as she consumed every inch of him.

The great tide began its surge and Thom almost screamed with its intensity; and as it came, as his juices broke free to pour into her, Jennet did scream, a shuddering sound that sent birds from branches into the air, caused animals in other parts of the woods to pause and look towards its source, drove the faeries surrounding the two

naked writhing bodies into a last wild frenzy, their vibrancy brightening the shaded parts of the glade.

And with the mutual o.r.g.a.s.m and the magic - 'The strongest magic of all' Jennet had whispered breathlessly to him - that was involved with it, combining in creating an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n that was both spiritual and physical, senses, thoughts and feelings joining in one brilliant illumination of perception, Thom once again glimpsed the rapture of before and understood that this vision was the death experience. He had briefly perceived the beginning of life's end, the first stage of a new yet timeless and inevitable journey for his kind and every kind, an image of what was to come. He had glimpsed the next doorway and the message was clear: there was so much more beyond.

THE WRECK.

THERE WAS something wrong with the cottage, but he could not tell what it was. Thom paused at the edge of the clearing, thick woodland at his back and all around. From where he stood he could see the other path that led to Castle Bracken, a bed of shaded bluebells crossing it, and on his left was the wider, rutted lane leading to the main road. His Jeep was parked in front of the cottage; nothing wrong there.

The front door to Little Bracken was open, but then he was sure he had left it that way when he had followed Jennet into the woods earlier that day.

It was late afternoon now and Thom was tired from walking, from making love with Jennet, from all the new thoughts that besieged his mind. Reluctantly, he had left Jennet by the lake, their parting sadly sweet in the way of new-found lovers. He had wanted her to return to Little Bracken with him, but she had said it was too soon, she could not be free of the lake just yet, that nothing could be rushed. If he had been confused and mystified before this

day, his thoughts were now in total disarray, some answers only leading to more questions, some questions - such as why Jennet believed he had returned to Bracken to help the faerefolkis, or why his mother had made him forget everything he had learned of them as child - remaining unanswerable, even by Jennet herself.

However, none of this bothered Thom too much on this warm late afternoon, for his day had been filled with extraordinary things, with love and insights into other realms that a few days ago he would have thought impossible. His whole concept of life - and death - had been irrevocably changed and there was no going back, no retreat into the normal world of reason and commonplace things.

He frowned as he looked across the clearing at the turreted cottage. What was it, what was wrong?

The place had an air about it that was cold - not lifeless, but somehow hostile, as if its very nature had changed. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe his nerves were on edge because of what had happened earlier.

Or maybe he, himself, had changed a little - maybe circ.u.mstances had made him more perceptive. There was something wrong, he could feel it in his marrow.

Cautiously, he crossed the clearing, approaching Little Bracken as if it were some strange new place to him, one that held danger within. Although tired, his senses became alert and even his vision seemed to sharpen. He pa.s.sed by the Jeep, glanced inside, checked no one lurked there. It was empty.

When he reached the short cracked flagstone path, gra.s.s growing through the breaks, he stopped oncemore and looked towards the cottage door. An area of kitchen was visible inside and all seemed normal.

Yet still he felt a coldness about the place.

Then he saw the spots of blood on the stone path before him. A deep crimson colour as if almost dried out.

Thom went to the first stains and knelt by them, examining them closely without touching to feel their viscosity.

There were more spots on the next flagstone, and the next, a trail in fact, as if someone had walked or run along the path, perhaps fleeing from something inside the cottage. He looked back at the open door again.

What if that something was still inside?

He thought of the night creature that had tried to steal his fluids, the succubus. Was it that, a night - a nightmare -creature, a monster that could only skulk in the hours of darkness? Maybe something else had been sent against him, another monster commissioned, so he was led to believe, by Nell Quick. Even as he felt the dread, another thought struck him. Why did he think the blood was leading away from the cottage? Why couldn't it be leading into Little Bracken? Perhaps someone had been injured in the woods and had sought refuge inside. It might even be old Eric Pimlet, seeking his help after some kind of accident. Eric had a good few years behind him now, was well beyond retirement age, his legs not as strong and steady as they once were. That had to be it.

Thom rose to his feet and went warily, despite his sound reasoning, towards the front door, avoiding the blood on the flat stones. When he reached the open doorway he paused again, one foot on the step, a hand on the door's stout frame, unsure whether to call out or not before entering. He wouldn't want to alarm anyone inside nor alert an intruder. Mentally shrugging, he strode in more boldly than he felt.

The kitchen was empty, but there were new flowers resting in the sink. Orchids. He skirted round the table to reach them, his puzzled frown deepening. Who could have brought them in? Rigwit? Had the elf decided to brighten up the place? Thom doubted it, for the little man had shown no such inclination before. He looked down at the pretty flowers in the sink and saw that they had been plucked from the earth whole, tubers and all. But the tubers - the bulbs - had been split open for some reason, the mushy stuff inside oozing out, much of it lying in soft gobs in the bottom of the

sink and on the draining board. Why would anyone do such a thing? Who would have done such a thing? Nell Quick immediately came to mind. What was going on here?

'Rigwit!' he called out as he turned to face the room again. 'Are you here, Rigwit? Can you hear me?'

There was no answer, not even the creak of floorboards, the movement of a cupboard door, tiny padding feet. Just the silence, the eerie silence.

Thom looked up at the ceiling and wondered. Could someone be hiding upstairs? Could Nell be upthere, waiting for him? He felt anger beginning to burn. Was she playing tricks on him? Or did she have other ideas up there in his bedroom? Did she honestly think she could seduce him now? For Christ's sake ...

He skirted the table again to get to the open doorway to the stairs, a firmness to his stride. Enough was enough. If it was Nell up there, she could take a hike, the faster the better.

But when he reached the small landing outside the bathroom and broom cupboard, he saw the white trainer on the first step of the spiral staircase, then its mate a few steps further up. Both were pointed forward, as if the person who had discarded them had been ascending rather then descending.

'Katy!' he said aloud. How could he have been so stupid to have forgotten? True, so much had happened that was way out of the ordinary he might have been forgiven for forgetting such a mundane appointment with his therapist, but he should have realized sooner. It had to be Katy, he'd seen her in these white trainers with the blue logo before.

'Katy?' This time it was a call. 'Are you up there?' He took the stairs two at a time, using the narrower end of the wedge shape, fingers curling round the centre newel to help hoist himself up. The drag of his left leg slowed him only a little.

Thom rushed into his bedroom and immediately took in

the rumpled bedsheets - he had left the bed unmade that morning, but it had not been as untidy as this - and the white cotton panties lying close by on the floor. There was also more blood near the open door.

For a while, he could only stare, comprehending nothing. Why had Katy been in his bedroom? Had she arrived at the cottage to find no one downstairs, but the front door open wide? Had she thought he might still be in bed and called up to him? On receiving no reply she might have suspected he'd had another, follow-up stroke and gone up to investigate. But why the blood on the floor, the panties by the bed, the tangled sheets? And why the orchids in the kitchen sink? The dread he'd felt before even entering Little Bracken grew even heavier, weighing him down, draining his strength. What the h.e.l.l was going on?

'Rigwit!' he shouted again. 'Can you hear me? You've got to help me, Rigwit?'

Only that cold foreboding silence still.

'Oh Christ,' he muttered to himself.

Going out on to the landing, he yelled some more, this time for Katy Budd as well as the elf. Before descending, he glanced back into the bedroom, looking around the walls, the windows, the furniture, as if for some clue, taking in the panties, the speckles of blood on the floor, even the rumpled bed again. What did it mean? Had someone attacked Katy when she'd arrived for their appointment, some stranger who'd wandered in from the woods? But wait, hadn't Katy left her card with him? It had her home number and cell phone number. He was about to return to the bedroom for his own mobile phone left on the sideboard/dressing table when a noise caused him to hesitate.

He listened, holding his breath. It came again, a snuffling, whimpering sound. Thom held on to the centre post and peered down the staircase, stretching forward to see around the bend. Once more, helistened. The sound. A quiet

weeping. And it came from above, not below. Thom pushed himself back on to the landing, the old boards creaking under his bare feet.

'Katy? Is that you up there?' he called, this time his voice softer.

He stepped towards the second flight of winding stairs, took a few steps up, treading lightly lest the boards creak again.

'Katy?'

Thom peered into the gloom of the false belltower, trying to see through the shadowy rafters that criss-crossed the open s.p.a.ce there. He thought he caught sight of a tiny face peering down at him, but it was gone in an instant, ducking behind a stout descending beam.

'Rigwit - it's you, isn't it?' Thom tried to keep his voice level, afraid he might alarm the little elf, who seemed scared enough already. 'It's me - Thom. What's wrong, why are you hiding up there?'

Still there was no reply and Thom climbed, going to the landing just outside the rooftop door. From there he had a clearer view of the fake belltower's interior, but it was still too dark and the beams too thick to see if a figure lurked there.

He softened his tone even more, speaking soothingly, coaxingly. 'Come on, Rigwit. You know me. It's Thom, Thom Kindred. No one's going to hurt you.'

There was movement among the shadows. The little face appeared again.