The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

was good at what I did. I can make a difference, whereas you, what are you?’ She couldn’t contain the bile. ‘A goody-goody who sits in the cathedral and asks God to make something exciting happen because it sure as hell has never happened up to now, and when God listens and sends you a full-on case of possession to watch, all you do is whimper and come to me and beg me to stop. Well, I’m not going to. I want to see what happens. I watched this girl Emma change into a vicious murdering woman and when she does it again, I want to be there to see it happen.’

‘Sandra! Emma is not a murderer. She’s a child!’

‘That’s the point. She’s not a child. Not when she’s possessed. You don’t understand how this works.’

‘All right. You tell me.’ Heather was clutching her coat around her as though her life depended on it. She didn’t even recognise this woman any more.

‘It works when people like you interfere. She will kill you and she will kill Beatrice.’

‘No. That’s not true.’

‘How do you know? Do you know anything at all about it?’

Heather hesitated. She wanted very badly to turn and run out of the house. She wasn’t even sure why she had come. She took a deep breath. ‘No. I don’t. You had better explain it to me.’

‘I’m not going to explain anything. But I will show you how powerful I am. Every bit as powerful as the witch woman in the past who thinks she can defeat me. You came to me for help, and you are going to get help. But not in the way you ever dreamed!’

Heather turned and began to walk towards the door. ‘I pity you, Sandra. And I shall pray for you. And I shall ask Mark and the dean – everyone – to pray for you.’

Sandra stood where she was, watching as Heather, summoning every ounce of courage she could, walked down the passage and out onto the street.

With a satisfied smile, Sandra sat down again. She was deep in thought. Finally, she shuffled through her Tarot pack until she found the card she wanted. Temperance. A good manager. Normally placid and likeable. But reversed. She reached out to turn the card upside down. Failure to understand. Conflict of interest. Discord.

‘So, Heather. I have added you to my list. You are going to regret trying to thwart me,’ she murmured.

She didn’t notice at first the card that fell, face up, on the carpet at her feet. The High Priestess. When she did, she stared at it thoughtfully and pushed it back into the pack.

From the shadows Nesta, ever watchful, smiled. Time for her to step forward and put an end to this woman’s nonsense.

‘Bea?’ Simon whispered. He was standing next to her in the nave of the church dedicated to Elisedd’s sixth-century ancestor, St Tysilio. ‘Are you asleep?’

She gave him a weary smile. ‘I was in the past. Here. Eadburh headed back here in the end.’

‘So she found him.’

‘I don’t know. If she found him, why is she still calling his name?’

They were silent for a while, then he sighed. ‘I’ve ordered food. We should go back to the pub and eat something.’

Bea reached for her mobile. Still nothing from Emma. She nodded. She was sick with fear but they had to eat. ‘Afterwards, I will come back to the church.’

In her dream, Bea was still in the church at Meifod, but it was not the church they had explored, it was a tiny stone building with rounded doorways and a small tower surmounted by a beaten metal cross, on the far side of a broad cloister garden. Beyond that lay the yard farmed by the other buildings of the community. Eadburh was there, confronting the abbot, who was listening ashen-faced as she shouted her demands. ‘He’s here. I know he’s here.’ She turned and shouted up into the vault of the roof. ‘Elise! Where are you?’ She swung back to face him. ‘I know he’s here. I have prayed and my prayers were answered. My love is here. Why are you are hiding him from me?’

‘Lady, I promise you he is not here. Elisedd, our father in Christ, left here two years since to go on a pilgrimage and he never returned. Please, you must believe me.’ He was looking at her, anguished. ‘I cannot help you.’

‘No. He’s here. He must be here. I’ve crossed the world to find him.’ Tears were beginning to pour down her cheeks.

‘He never returned,’ he repeated, his voice broken. ‘We heard he was killed on the orders of the Emperor Charlemagne.’ He dropped his gaze, visibly embarrassed.

So, he too knew the story. She shrank away from him. ‘And that is why you hide him. Even now, after all my travails, you dare to keep him from me. Tell him.’ She threw down her staff, watching as it rolled away with a rattling sound over the floor tiles. ‘Tell him I’m here. Let him decide.’

The old man let out a deep sigh. Behind him, one or two of the other monks had appeared, anxiously watching. One of them tiptoed away to return with two of the younger lay brothers. ‘Please leave our church. This is the house of God. No one tells lies here, Lady Eadburh. He is not here. He never returned from his …’ he hesitated over the word, ‘pilgrimage.’

‘Please, lady.’ Another man, this time not in holy orders, his head untonsured, stepped forward. ‘Please, lady, let me take you to our guest house. You can refresh yourself and rest. Father Abbot speaks the truth. Our beloved Abad Elisedd has not returned. If he had, you would be informed, I promise you.’

She looked wildly from one to the other, then let out an anguished scream of frustration. ‘I don’t believe you. A pox on you all! A curse on this place! I will not rest until you give him up!’ She spun round and stamped back