Inside, people were moving furniture; she watched as two men carried some kind of desk up a set of stairs. Someone was moving in.
I wonder if there really is a curse on it.She smiled to herself, pulling the tartan wool shawl around her shoulders to keep out the cold.
She remembered asking her mother about it one day when Moddie was plaiting her hair for school.But IS there a faerie curse, Mummy?She had watched as Moddie’s deft hands braided the three hanks of the deep auburn hair that fell in natural – but often wild and knotted – ringlets around Faye’s shoulders. But when she gazed up to her mother’s face from the edge of her bed, mirrored in the glass of the dressing table opposite, Moddie had a strange expression.Just Grandmother’s tales.Go on and get dressed for school now, little one, was all she had said, but she had hugged Faye fiercely before she let her go.
‘Great view out here!’ the man called out as he approached her.
‘It certainly is!’ she called back.
He was holding a sheaf of papers, but just then the wind came up unexpectedly and blew them out of his hand.
‘Oh, shit!’ His dark eyes widened, and he started running after the papers, which had turned the quiet beach into a sudden storm. Instinctively, Faye collected the ones nearest to her and realised they were flyers of some description. She watched him as he ran around, trying to catch the others. There was a sudden greenish glimmer of light around the man, as if it was chasinghim, tormenting him. It was as though there were sprites in the wind, pulling the papers away from him right at the last minute, curling and parading them around him. Faye blinked, watching the energy. It appeared to want to distract the man from Faye, because every time he got closer to her, the green light – which curled and danced lazily in the air – pushed the papers further away. Curiously, she watched for a few moments before moving towards him and collecting some more of the papers. As soon as she approached, the shimmer disappeared.
‘Here.’ She handed him the ones she had collected.
‘Thanks. I don’t know what just happened. There’s no wind.’ A smile played on his lips as he looked up at her.
‘You’re welcome.’ She found herself smiling back, taking him in as he stood up. Close up, he seemed even larger. Faye was very aware of the aura of masculinity that surrounded him; she could almost breathe it in, and it made her giddy. She had the sudden impression of this man holding a baby pink rose softly against her cheek, and then taking her in an embrace, his rock-hard biceps pressing her close to his chest.
He handed her a wet flyer. ‘Here. You might as well have the last salvageable one.’
ABERCOLME ROCKS, Faye read. Underneath, there was a list of what she assumed were band names, thenMIDSUMMER EVEwritten at the bottom.Midsummer, Midsummer, Midsummer delight; go to the faeries on Midsummer night –the old rhyme played in her mind.
‘What’s this?’ She looked back up at him. Close up, his eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black; his eyelashes were long and soft.
‘Abercolme’s first music festival. That I know of, anyway. Hi. I’m Rav Malik.’ He held out his hand; Faye shook it politely, feeling a glow of warmth from his skin and a sudden shiverof desire at his touch. ‘I’m promoting a festival up here. I was supposed to be plastering these all over town.’
‘You managed the beach.’ She smiled shyly. Faye was unused to interacting with men like Rav Malik. He exuded some kind of primal pheromone that she could feel herself responding to, and she had no idea how to deal with it. She had never, ever met a man and been this attracted to him on sight before.
The smell of roses was now quite pungent in the air. Faye wondered if she was going mad or if Rav could smell it.
‘Yeah. Not quite the plan, but maybe a few snails will buy tickets.’
‘Snails don’t live on beaches. The salt would kill them.’ Faye chuckled. ‘You’re not from around here?’
‘You got me.’ He looked boldly at her: a look that she felt between her thighs, as if he had touched her there. Her eyes widened; her lips parted. She made a noise in the back of her throat, like a moan, and disguised it as a cough.
Faye pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to compose herself. ‘Who’s moving into the big house? Do you know?’
‘Me.’ He smiled at her. He had a nice smile. ‘Just moved my company up from London to Edinburgh. Amazed it’s been empty so long.’
‘You?You’removing into the house?’ Faye did a double take. She didn’t know how much the house was worth, but it would have to be a lot, given its size and location, right on the beach. Rav didn’t look particularly wealthy, dressed casually with his week-old beard, but then, she supposed, what did a wealthy person look like?
‘Aye.’ He smiled at her again, the grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. ‘I’m moving into the house. Anything wrong with that?’
‘No…I guess I’m just surprised that…you’re not…old,’ she blurted out, and blushed instantly. ‘I mean…most people who live here are.’
‘Hmm. I’ve got a few years in me yet.’ He chuckled. ‘And you are?’
‘Faye Morgan.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He gestured at the remaining flyers that still littered the beach.
‘I’m going to have to pick this lot up, aren’t I, Faye Morgan? Or the village elders will curse me.’
She laughed. ‘The village elders would tell you it’s not them you have to worry about.’
‘Oh. Who do I have to appease with burnt offerings?’
