‘Yeah, yeah,’ Hester grumbled. ‘At the very least, you should have negotiated a percentage.’ She looked out of the window at Amy’s departing back and her voice dropped. ‘I hope she’ll be alright. Treasure hunting is dangerous and I like her. I don’t want her to get hurt.’
I smiled softly. I suspected that was at the root of Hester’s complaint but, regardless of her youth, I reckoned Amy would be fine. More than fine, in fact.
Hugo’s phone pinged and he picked it up and glanced at the screen. A slow smile spread across his face. ‘The Primes have come through. They’ve found information that the woods near Hammerwich were not coppiced until just after the turn of the thirteenth century. That helps narrow down the time frame. Now we’re looking for something that could remove all fiends in one go that existed between the years of 1200 and 1345.’ In other words, long before Athair had been born.
Otis smiled brightly. ‘That’s only 145 years to worry about. Easy. We could get the golden skull back from Sir Nigel and time travel back. That’d be really interesting.’
‘Sure,’ Hester said. ‘I, for one, am incredibly eager to spend more than a century living in a world without antibiotics, sanitation and Google.’
Hugo intervened. ‘Unfortunately, even if we were allowed to use it again, the skull doesn’t work like that.’
‘But that doesn’t mean we’re out of options.’ I grinned.
Hester sighed. ‘You’re talking about books, aren’t you? Dusty, boring research. If there was anything to find in books, wouldn’t somebody have already found it?’
‘You have to know which questions to ask before you can find the answers. With enough time, I’m sure I can inspire an army of bookworms to help us,’ Hugo said. ‘We know more about what we’re looking for now, so we can hit every library and museum in the country that houses old books. It will take time but we’re bound to find something sooner or later.’
‘Or we can speed things up, narrow down our search and try something else,’ I suggested.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Go on.’
‘Athair is hundreds of years old,’ I said. ‘That spider is hundreds of years old. It’s theirlivedhistory that has given them the knowledge we lack.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Hugo scratched his chin.
I grinned widely. ‘My old friend the Fachan is hundreds of years old, too.’
Smoo Cave wasthe last place in Britain I’d ever thought I’d return to. I wouldn’t have described my first visit there as a pleasant experience, even though without it I wouldn’t have had Gladys. But when we finally arrived at the familiar campsite after hour upon hour of relentless driving north, I couldn’t denythe warm fuzziness I felt upon seeing the familiar signs and the open campsite.
With no other tents and no sign of any camper vans, we had our pick of the spots. It took less than fifteen minutes to erect our tent, lay out our sleeping bags and get our equipment ready for the next day’s excursion into the cave. I was trying not to think too hard about that; the less mental space my claustrophobia could occupy, the less it would bother me when we entered Smoo Cave. If I could beat drug addiction, I could certainly overcome my fear of small dark spaces.
Hugo tidied up the loose items in the back of the Jeep then strode towards the centre of the campsite. He glanced around, side-stepped three metres to his left and planted his feet firmly on a particular spot, then put his hands in his pockets, turned around and eyed me with a knowing glint. Something tugged at my mind and an old memory rose to the surface; before I could stop it, a flush rose to my cheeks.
‘It’s as if we were here only yesterday,’ Hugo murmured. ‘You know, I was standing right on this very spot when you told me that you wanted a threesome.’ His gaze travelled up and down my body with a hot, possessive look. ‘The trouble is, Daisy, I’m not prepared to share you with anyone.’
I licked my lips. My flush was deepening. ‘I was hallucinating at the time, as you well know. The threesome I envisaged was me, and,’ I held up two fingers to emphasise my point, ‘two of you.’
‘One of me isn’t enough?’ he teased.
‘There’s always room for improvement.’
A low guttural rumble sounded in his chest. ‘You can’t improve upon perfection.’
I laughed aloud as Hugo continued to smoulder.
I was vaguely aware of Otis and Hester looking at us, looking at each other and muttering about re-visiting the local pubbefore they hastily flapped away. If the bar staff were the same as last year, the brownies would be welcomed with open arms. I didn’t pay them much attention; it was nigh on impossible to drag my gaze away from Hugo.
‘Do you practise that look in the mirror?’ I asked him. ‘That“come hither so I can ravish you immediately”look?’
‘I don’t need to practise it. All I need to do is look at you and think of how good you feel in my arms.’
My attempts at humour vanished, replaced by a tightening in my belly with several delicious, anticipatory butterflies thrown in for good measure.
Hugo continued, ‘I remember the exact words you said to me.’
‘Oh, yes?’ I asked, with an expression of innocent curiosity.
‘You said“I want your hot skin against mine and your arms wrapped around me”.’
