Then he turned with a smile to face Constance.
She did not run. She did not erupt in anger or become hysterical. She simply stared.
Even though he had been there hundreds of times, he knew it was an impressive sight. In the center stood the altar, an ancient block of granite, dating back to the eleventh century, hidden behind a gauzy, hanging shroud; this altar, created in France, had been carried to England, and thence across the seas, hidden, transported from place to place, until it ended up here. Along its sides were Romanesque carvings of devils, polished by a thousand years of use. To one side sat a fantastically carven table, half as long as the altar. On its top were arranged a large silver cup set upon a linen cloth, along with lancets, scarificators, and other bloodletting tools.
Illuminated in the wavering candlelight were the frescoed vaults of a pentagonal room, again depicting devils, gargoyles, ouroboros, Barbary apes, men and women, all cavorting in a kind of paradise of sin: a truly Boschian scene. Thick tapestries hung on the walls, decorated with forest images, flowers, and unicorns, also dating back to Romanesque times; and along the columns holding up the barrel ceiling were elaborately decorated alchemical symbols. The ceiling itself was hung with dozens of fine constructions made out of whittled bones bound up in twine, reminiscent of animals, birds, and beasts. Even in the still air they managed to endlessly sway and turn, as if alive and agitated, throwing raking shadows in the indirect candlelight. Ancient benches, polished by use, stood in serried ranks along the pentagonal walls of the room, and the floor was thick with layers of Persian rugs, some dating back three hundred years.
Gavin watched Constance carefully. As he hoped, she was calmly taking it all in with those intense violet eyes, without hysteria or perturbation. He felt a swell of confidence that what was happening here was, in a way, ordained. This was one remarkable woman.
He smiled. “Welcome.”
“Welcome to what?” she asked in an even voice.
“Before I go into that, may I ask how you got here?”
No answer.
“Let me guess, then: you’re here because you figured out the abandoned witches’ colony had not vanished, but moved to this spot. And you came to investigate. Am I right?”
She did not react. God, it was hard to read her face, beyond those strangely quiet but intense eyes.
“And now you’ve arrived at all this.” He spread his hands. “It must be very confusing.”
Still she said nothing.
“How to begin?” He gave a nervous laugh. This girl made him feel like a teenager again. “I don’t know how you did it, exactly, but your coming here is…a sign. It is without doubt a sign.”
“A sign of what?”
He looked at her beautiful, oddly impassive face. He sensed this woman was even deeper than he had believed. So much the better.
“This, Constance, is our chamber of worship.”
“Our chamber.”
“Yes. Our chamber. And this is our altar.”
“May I ask what religion?”
“You may. We practice the oldest surviving religion on earth. The original religion. As you’ve no doubt guessed, we are witches.” He observed her face closely, but could not quite interpret the look that briefly crossed her face. “Real witches. Our worship goes back twenty thousand years.”
“And those women you’ve brutalized?”
“Not brutalized. Not at all. Please, give me a chance to explain before you judge. Constance, I’m sure you must realize that your coming here—and my arrival at the same time—is not an accident. Nor is it an accident that Carole failed to poison you with that chai tea of hers. She’s a jealous woman—but we’re off the subject.”
Constance did not reply.
“From the very beginning, I saw that you were one of those exceptional people you spoke of back at the Inn. Do you recall that conversation?”
“Very well.”
“I knew then that you could be one of us. We haven’t taken a new member into our family in two hundred years. It takes a very special person to understand who we are. You’re that person. There’s a rebellion in you, a yearning for freedom. I see in you the desire to live by your own rules.”
“Indeed.”
Gavin was amazed at how easy this was, how natural it felt. “And there’s a darkness in you.”
“Darkness?”
This was more than encouraging. “Yes, but a good kind of darkness. The darkness that brings light.”