out as sheets of heavy rain gusted against the glass. The dim table lamp had given a brief flash of light and then died, so the room was black all around her. She knew she should get up and light some candles but felt rooted to the spot. She could see little outside other than the nearest large tree bending madly in the gale. She thought of all the young people who lived in the Hall but were now stranded down in the Barn, and of her own children tucked up in the Nursery. She hoped they were sleeping through this terrible storm and not crying for her. She thought of Yul, also down in the Village. Sylvie wished he were here now with her, lying wrapped around her in their bed, whispering into her ear so she felt safe and loved. Instead she was totally alone, perhaps the only person in the Hall. Why hadn’t she waited for him?
The climax of thunder cracked in the sky and the livid white-blue lit up the dark world outside. It reflected shockingly in the huge mirror over the empty fireplace, making the room suddenly stark and unreal. Everything was illuminated in that instant. Sylvie cried out in terror and hugged her arms around her, shrinking inside to a closed kernel of fear. Because, along with the noise and the ghastly flash, something else had come into the chamber. She hadn’t smelt that aroma in many years and yet here it was silently wafting towards her, threading through and insinuating around the dark shadows of the room. She knew it well; it was heady, aromatic, and exotic. It was the scent of Magus.
8
In the Great Barn, folk shivered and glanced nervously at the dark shadowy corners. Everyone wanted nothing more than to be back home now, safe in their beds. Many of the teenagers who lived in the Hall decided to stay the night in the Village in their parents’ cottages, and others were offered beds for the night to save them walking back in the violent wind and rain. There was also the fear of lightning strike, and nobody wanted to be caught exposed on the track leading up to the Hall.
As he stood inside the Barn amidst the turmoil, Yul realised with a jolt that Sylvie was all alone. He hoped desperately that she’d reached the shelter of the Hall before the storm really broke. Whilst people going back to the Hall milled around finding cloaks and lanterns and gathering to walk home together, Yul knew he must get back immediately. There was a phone-line in the Barn and he tried to ring the extension in their apartments but the tone sounded strange and there was no answer.
Pulling his cloak tightly around his Samhain robes, Yul hurried out into the wild night. His hood was blown back immediately and, lowering his head, he ran as fast as he could against the wind. He was hampered by his robes and cloak flapping around and tangling between his legs, becoming wetter and heavier by the minute. The trees danced frenziedly in the howling gale as Yul raced up the track, focusing on the thought of Sylvie alone and scared, trying not to think of the other fears that jostled him in the darkness. He felt hag-ridden – as if malignant forces were all around trying to stop him reaching the Hall. Several times he stumbled to his knees in the darkness and once fell headlong over a fallen branch, grazing his hands and jarring his wrists.
At last the huge blackness of the Hall loomed into sight. Almost crying with relief, his face awash with rain and hair plastered to his skull, Yul made a final surge towards the great wooden doors. He was exhausted by the struggle to get home and the events of Samhain, and frantic to find Sylvie – as much for his own comfort as hers. He skidded across the hall’s polished parquet floor, his sodden cloak heavy around his legs, and raced up the dimly-lit stairs. All was gloomy as he crossed the landing and wrenched open the door to the grand apartments.
He was hit by a wall of darkness when he’d expected light. It was almost palpable and beneath his wet cloak and damp robes, Yul’s flesh raised in goose-bumps.
‘Sylvie?’ he called, but his voice came out hoarsely. ‘Sylvie, where are you? I’ve come back!’
His skin prickled with fear – where was she? Maybe she’d gone to bed?