Phil Rickman - The Chalice

They followed her into the opulent room with the velvet drapes, the gold braiding and a superior coal-effect gas fire. Dame Wanda rumbled at the drinks cabinet and knocked over a brass lamp. 'Bloody thing.'

Powys righted the lamp. Wanda squinted at him. She wore lots of mascara which had blotched and run. She looked as though she'd been shot through both eyes.

When she flopped down on the sofa, Juanita sat next to her. 'Wanda. listen to me. Where's Diane? You remember. Plump girl. Jenna brought her last night. And Ceridwen. Was Ceridwen here?'

'Nobody's here, darling, nobody't all.'

'You're saying you're alone? All alone in this big house?'

Wanda poured wine, clumsily. 'We're all of us alone.

'And chilled by the draught of death. Yeah. Wanda, where is Ceridwen?'

If she could use her hands, Powys thought, she'd be shaking the great actress until her tore rattled.

'C'ridwen's gawn. All gawn.'

'All? Who?'

'C'ridwen. Domini, Diane Fortune'

'Diane. Diane is with them. Where? Where are they, Wanda?'

'Fuck should I know. I'm just an outer… outer circler. Don't tell us anything. I sit and I drink and I wait for Enlightenment.' She thrust a brimming wineglass at Juanita. Try this. Old Pennard makes it. Ghastly piss.'

Juanita didn't move. Powys swooped and plucked the glass from Wanda's hand, took a sip, grimaced. Wanda laughed.

'Treads the grapes himself, shouldn't wonder. They're on their uppers, you know, s'why he's so keen for the bloody road to go through. Done a dirty deal with Government for about fifty acres. Got a drink, have you, darling?'

'Yes,' said Juanita.

'But we're going…' Wanda stabbed her in the chest with a gold-encrusted forefinger,'… to stop them. Yes we are. C'ridwen will cast the most enormous sodding spell. Not that I'll be there. Bitches. I'm not toh… totally stupid. Know I'm just a figurehead. Also kept for menial chores like looking after little fucking Verity.'

'What's the problem with Verity? I thought you were friends.'

'Lord above,' said Wanda, I'm a fucking actress.' She leaned her head back into the sofa's gold-brocaded cushions. 'D'you know what I've to do today? Have to invite her for Solstice tomorrow. Gawds, up at dawn to join the fucking bishop on the Tor and then Verity for the duration. You imagine that? Verity for Solstice? Stringy old bird, no breast.'

Wanda cackled. She adjusted herself on the sofa, picked up an imaginary phone.

'Oh, but darling, you simply must come. No way you can spend Solstice alone in that dreary, dreary house. And the other point, you see, is Dilys – my housekeeper – has gawn down with this awful bug. Verity would you, could you… I've a lovely room, overlooking St John's…'

Wanda beamed. Lecturing Juanita now, pleased with herself. She seemed to have forgotten all about Powys.

'Double whammy, darling. You see, she'll be desperate to come, but she'll feel it her duty to stay in that hellhole – so the clincher will be the housekeeper line. Housemaid mentality, that woman. Got to be doing for people or she doesn't feel jus… justified. In living.'

Powys nodded to Juanita and moved quietly to the door.

'Piece of cake,' Wanda was saying. 'Putty, that woman. Dear little parcel under the Solstice tree. Set of naff hankies with a monogrammed V. Basket of pot-pourri…'

Powys slipped out of the room and back down the thickly carpeted stairs.

He entered Cauldron country. There was a huge drawing room and library, perhaps two rooms knocked into one. A lecture room now, with about thirty chairs in rows. Shelves around the walls held about twice as many books as you could find in Carey and Frayne, but the same kind of stuff. Alphabetically arranged. Under Fortune, he found about forty volumes, some different editions of the same book, under Powys, nothing.

Choosy. Or maybe no male authors.

On a plinth at the far end of the room sat an enormous, rude goddess-figure, not unlike the thing in the Goddess shop window but carved out of oak with bangles and necklaces of mistletoe.

It was all very tidy. No smells of herbs or incense. But for the goddess, it might have been a conference suite in a hotel. There was another door, between bookshelves.

Powys found himself in Wanda's Home Temple.

'It didn't make sense,' he told Juanita outside, it was done up like Tutankhamen's tomb, only more comfortable. Sofas, drapes, nice coloured pillars. A stone altar, fat candles. It felt as phoney as that woman looks. Why did she come here?'

'Fell in love with the whole Avalon bit,' Juanita said. 'That's the official story. The truth is, she went to dry out at a discreet New-Agey sort of health hydro a couple of miles out of town. Ceridwen's friend Jenna worked there, realised that here was a woman with unlimited wealth in need of a Cause. The reason I know this, my reflexologist, Sarah, was doing sessions there two days a week. Jenna wasted no time introducing Wanda to Ceridwen. Who administered a little psychic psychotherapy. Next thing, Wanda's bought this house and is spending a bomb on it.'

'I don't claim to be heavily attuned to this kind of thing,' Powys said. 'But if there's ever been a heavy ritual in that house-'

'It's somewhere else, isn't it? This place is a front.'

Juanita shivered. She looked ill now; Powys was very scared for her.

'When Wanda set up here, this was when The Cauldron really surfaced.' Over her scarf, Juanita's nose was blue. 'It became the goddess group virtually overnight. All kinds of women who'd never been seen at the Assembly Rooms, attended Cauldron meetings and lectures because of Wanda. Including Verity.'

'The lady with the Pixhill papers. I think we need to collect them, don't you?'

'What about Diane?'

'She's not here, Juanita. She may have been brought here last night, but they've taken her somewhere else. Where does Ceridwen live?'

'Tiny little flat near the Glastonbury Experience arcade. She won't be there. Too obvious.' Juanita walked to the end of the mews, where it led into High Street. 'Time is it?'

'Nearly ten-thirty.'

'Diane's been missing for over twelve hours.'

'We could tell the police.'

'She's twenty-seven. We can't say she's missing from home.'

Juanita's teeth were chattering. Her brown eyes were full of sickness.

'You're going home,' Powys said. 'Now.'

The sleet had eased, but it was very cold and the sky behind the tower of St John's foamed with purplish cloud.

For the first time, Pel Grainger had his partner with him, the psychotherapist and sociologist Eloise Castell, a slender; blonde with a mid-European accent who never seemed to smile. Verity had seen her at gatherings of The Cauldron, but they had not spoken.

Shivering, despite her body-warmer, Verity followed the two of them up the garden under a hard sky which sporadically spat out sharp, grey fragments of itself. Verity felt an ominous tug on her hip with every step. It could not simply be arthritis; it had come too suddenly.

It felt like Colonel Pixhill's ghost. Urging her to stop them, bring these foolish people back.

But Dr Grainger was jovial and bulging with confidence. He hadn't even knocked at the door; she'd just seen them both walking briskly through the garden gate.

'See, just because people can't drink this water. Verity,' Dr Grainger called back cheerfully, 'that is no reason to seal the well.'

Against the weather, he wore a thick black cloak like the ones church ministers wore for winter funerals.

'But surely,' Verity ventured, hurrying to keep up, 'if anyone was ill, they could then sue us for some enormous amount.'

'Not if there's a sign specifically warning them not to drink. Hell, you seal off an old well, you're blocking an ancient energy flow. Water – and darkness – must not, not ever, be stifled.'