Page 48 of His Wicked Charm

“Ah...the Holy Grail,” Con said.

Lilah suppressed a sigh. At least they were off the subject of the Other Side.

“Then you know about it!” Vesta cried with delight.

“Indeed. The legend is that Joseph of Arimathea sailed here to Britain and buried the holy chalice at Glastonbury Tor.”

“Yes. Some say that Glastonbury Tor was the isle of Avalon, where King Arthur was borne on his funeral barge, but of course that is all nonsense.”

“Is it?” Con leaned in, food forgotten on his plate.

Vesta nodded emphatically. “Glastonbury Tor was once an island, but it wasn’t Avalon. It was the Western Isle, where dead souls traveled to meet their reward.”

Lilah cleared her throat. “We aren’t going to the Holy Well. We’re planning to ride to Carmoor.”

“Carmoor!” Aunt Vesta stared at her. “But why? It’s just a house.” She looked over at Con. “There are so many more interesting places around here. There’s the Faerie Track. That’s not far.”

“The Faerie Track? I’ve never heard of that.”

Vesta nodded. “Yes, some call it the Fae Path or the Silver Way—it’s said it gleams silver to those who have the ability to ‘see.’ It’s ancient, very ancient. A safe passage through the bogs.”

“We are going to Carmoor,” Lilah reiterated firmly. “Con has business there. His brother, you know, is married to Sabrina, and Con is here to monitor the house for them. To make sure everything is all right.”

“Little Sabrina. Such a sweet child.” Vesta sighed. “I so missed the two of you.”

Lilah bit back the words that rose in her throat. Then why did you stay away for nine years?

“Miss Holcutt is correct,” Con said. “But I look forward to exploring this area. It seems to be a very special place.”

“Con... I...um—”

Vesta nodded enthusiastically. “It is indeed. It has been a place of power for thousands of years. The old ones knew this. Glastonbury Tor, you know, forms a triangle with Stonehenge and the standing stones at Avebury. And, of course, three...”

“Is a mystical number,” Con finished.

Vesta waved her hand around vaguely. “The paths all run through here.”

“Like this track you mentioned, the Fae Path?”

“There are no paths,” Lilah said flatly. “Aunt Vesta, please...” Did her aunt not realize, did she not see, how foolish she appeared? But Con, of course, would encourage her.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean the Faerie Track.” Vesta leaned forward, happy to expound. “Although it must lie atop one. I’m talking about the channels in the earth. The power that lies beneath us. It courses in Lines, many Lines, from Cornwall to London and beyond. From the Channel into Scotland. It is mystical power.”

“Mystical power?” Con asked encouragingly.

“Yes. One can almost feel it pulsing beneath one’s feet. Some people call it magic, which is sheer foolishness. The Lines are the connection to the Source. It’s the essence of life. Most people cannot feel it, never realize it. But those of us who have ability, we know.” She reached over and patted Con’s hand. “You feel it. You have the ability.”

“No, I fear not,” Con replied.

“Oh, you do.” She wagged a playful finger at him. “You just haven’t realized it yet. But I can sense it in you.”

“Tell me more about these Lines. They come from Glastonbury Tor?”

“As I told you, it’s an ancient holy place. A multitude of channels course through it. Glastonbury is a crossroads, a place of power, but it’s not the source of it. That comes from the earth itself and spans the globe.” She held up her hands in a circle, fingertips interlacing. “A web, you see. One can draw on the power from anywhere, but it is stronger when you are on a strand of the web. And it is very mighty at one of the hubs.” She paused. “That is why I returned.”

Lilah tightened all over, her hands knotting into fists in her lap, but she could think of no way to stop her aunt.

“Because this area is powerful?” Con asked.