The Silver Witch

‘Oh, I see. I just assumed … And do you call Barbados home?’


‘I do, or at least I did. My dad was killed in a diving accident when I was twenty-two. Mom wanted me to give it up but, well … when you find the thing you were meant to do…’ He drains his glass. ‘I come back here as often as I can. It’s been hard for Uncle Illtyd since Auntie Greta passed on. Fact is, I don’t know that I feel at home anywhere except under the water.’

Tilda gives a gasp, shaking her head slowly. ‘Well, that is somewhere we definitely differ. Nothing would induce me to go diving. Or swimming. Or even get in a boat if I can avoid it.’

‘Landlubber.’

‘Water baby.’

‘Maybe I can help you with that.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Have you ever seen the Caribbean? It’s not like the sea here. It’s turquoise, not gray. And warm!’

‘Me in that sort of sun? Do you know how much sunblock I have to wear even in this damp, cloudy country?’ She picks up the poker and chivvies the fire, encouraging more flames.

‘Which is why you run at dawn,’ he says, looking at her as if another piece of the mystery that is Tilda has just fallen into place.

‘Easier on my skin and my eyes.’

They sit together in silence again, and Tilda notices she has been able to almost forget about what happened earlier in the day. The respite was helpful, but could only ever be brief. She looks at Dylan again now.

‘You know, they will move that body. From the dig.’

‘Oh yes. Lucas will make sure of that.’

‘And when they do’—she searches for the words—‘they’ll set her free again.’

‘Who in God’s name was she?’ Dylan asks.

‘I don’t know.’ Tilda runs her hand through her hair, tugging it out of its plait in her exasperation. ‘I don’t know who she was and I don’t know why she seems intent on terrifying me. All I do know is that once that stone is taken off her again, somehow she is going to be let loose. And I have to be prepared for that. I have to be ready for her.’

‘We.’ Dylan puts his hand on hers. ‘You aren’t facing this alone, Tilda. I promise you.’

‘Being with me nearly got you killed today.’

‘But you saved me. You can beat this … creature. I know you can. And I’m going to help you. But tonight you don’t have to worry. Tonight you’re safe.’ He lifts his hand and strokes her hair. ‘It’s like spun glass.’ He touches her cheek. ‘You are the most incredibly beautiful woman I have ever seen,’ he says, and leans slowly forward to kiss her.

Thistle has other ideas. She growls and snaps simultaneously, missing Dylan’s face by the narrowest of gaps.

‘Thistle, no!’ Tilda screams at her.

Dylan leaps to his feet, backing away. ‘It’s okay. I’m fine. No harm done. It’s okay.’

‘No, it is not okay! Bad dog! What is the matter with you?’ Tilda opens the door and sends the dog out. Thistle slinks past and scurries up the stairs to the bedroom. ‘Dylan, I’m so sorry.’

‘Again? We’ve been through this.’

‘It’s not funny. She really went for you. She could have seriously hurt you. Here, let me see.’ She ignores his protests and studies his face and hands.

‘See?’ He smiles at her. ‘Told you, I’m fine. She’s just jealous. She’s used to having you to herself. I shouldn’t have invaded her space.’

‘Her space? This is my house.’

‘She was only trying to protect you.’

Tilda reaches up and touches his face. ‘There are plenty of other people she can bite if she wants to. You, I can handle myself.’

‘You want to bite me?’ He laughs.

Tilda smiles. ‘You think you’re so clever,’ she says, planting the lightest of kisses on his lips.

‘I’m currently being kissed by the most desirable person in the room. I’d say that was pretty clever,’ he tells her. And then he slides his arms around her waist and holds her close, and he kisses her, and she kisses him back. And Tilda finds she is hungry for him. That she can still feel passion, longing, want … and it is Dylan she wants.

Yes. Dylan.

Suddenly all the long, lonely months that have gone before this moment melt away. There is nothing but here and now. This man. This connection. She pulls him closer, holds him more tightly, kisses him with increasing fervor. And he returns her passion, so that soon they are tearing at one another’s clothes, laughing as they tumble over the sofa, as they roll onto the rug in front of the fire, greedily snatching kisses, pulling at each other’s seemingly endless layers of garments. Tilda wonders fleetingly if she is reacting to the trauma of the day; a need to affirm life after a brush with death. She is too lost in her need for Dylan to want to analyze how she feels. Soon they are both naked, the firelight dancing on his mocha dark skin and flashing on her ghost pale flesh. Their burning desire blocking out the cold of winter that has already coated the windowpanes with ice.