Pagan Ties

None, will ye be more disappointed than her, blood without, a son.
Tyme passeth, blood within as prodigy returneth to her as a child, no idea, no need for heritage, until green turneth brown and the hand passeth on...

Brown and green were never her favourite colours.
Whenever her parents visited with her gran in the country she always made it plain that she wasn't happy. even as a young girl four or five she would kick and scream as much as possible until either they gave in, or, which was more often than not she tired herself out and fell asleep for the journey there. In this instance her grandmother would take pity on her and put her in her own bed. she would instantly cuddle down into the eiderdown and fall sound asleep, to awaken, a good while later either on the way home, or in her own bed in the morning.
This went on until her auntie mentioned one day, when she was about eleven, how unnatural all this was, this falling asleep and staying asleep for hours on end just wasn't healthy. Asleep during the day and up all night, why, it would seriously damage her metabolism. and she should know. she was a nurse!
well. an auxiliary nurse, but the sentiment was the same. Get the girl checked out.
so they did.
The doctor examined her, and spoke to the parents before giving his diagnosis of a little drama queen, nothing more. she was tiring herself out with all the polava and sleeping it off.
Once this had been established they breathed a sigh of relief. There was only one thing they could do. from then on in the gran visited them at their house, and lo and behold everything was fine.
This carried on for five more years until the gran took ill and had to be placed in a nursing home. stress for all involved, and the parents feared a relapse in her behaviour. since the gran had been visiting them the two of them had bonded and became very close. An event like this could set the girl back.
She, however surprised them all.
The girl, now sixteen was very amicable when she was informed of the decision, When they all went in to visit her for the first time she gave her gran a big hug and promised her, in front of everyone present, as well as two care attendants, that she would visit her every weekend, Saturday or Sunday. Her gran hugged her back and told her that she knew she would, an optimism that was not felt by everyone. but the girl made good. In there, every weekend like clockwork, sometimes on her days off as well (by that time she had begun her first job. a local convenience store owned by a Swedish company) Right up until the day she died.
By the time the end came she was twenty two, working for her father as an assistant, and living in her own flat right in the middle of the town where they stayed. As far away from the countryside as possible. The funeral was announced in the local paper, in case she had any friends who wanted to pay their last respects to the old girl. It was just one of the things you always did. A half hearted minor chore that went with everything else you did when organising these things. her father did not really expect anyone to turn up, even having the funeral as a small affair, showing this opinion, so it was no wonder that neighbouring car parks were over flowing, the people that came in the cars and buses crowding the small garden of remembrance and the road outside. The family didn't know where they all came from, not even knowing who most of them were. but they were happy, if a little shocked at the monstrous turnout.
The day after the funeral she finally entered her grandmothers cottage, for the first time under her own will. her mother was going to be the one to tie up the affairs, but at the last moment her father took ill and had to be rushed to the hospital. So rather than have her mother run herself into the ground, running about like a headless chicken, she offered to take care of things. Her mother didn't even argue. (having looked after the cottage for all those years she was happy to pass on the responsibility) She thanked her daughter and promised to keep her informed of her dads condition. They kissed and parted of the ways. the mother went in with the ambulance and the daughter drove her car in the opposite direction.
That day the breeze was slight, but you didn't really notice it until you came away from the stone buildings. She had her window open up until then, so it was the movement of the trees that made her aware of the weather other than feeling it against her face as she drove. Experiencing nature through a window rather than up close and personal. This suited her just fine. This was the way she liked it. She hadn't told anyone why she had hated the country so much as a child, and still did, but the reason was simple enough. It smelled and was dirty. This may have been snobbishness in other children, but she genuinely did not like any of this. The smell made her feel sick to her stomach, and the thought of the dirt made her skin itch. Without all this things would be fine. were fine. even the twisting trees had a kind of hypnotic beauty about them. Colours of sunlight alternating swiftly with the earthy tones, making a kind of hum in her mind. not an unpleasant hum either, a soothing calming noise that was almost hypnotic to her. It felt like a power line above her was giving off a kind of greasy feeling to the air, making it vibrate with a frequency that was making her drowsy...making her fall asleep...
Almost of its own accord her foot jumped on the break, sending a shudder through the car as it skidded to a halt She shot forward in her seat, seatbelt jamming up tight, stopping her from serious injury.
She sat there for a moment. Bent forward, breathing heavily. She could feel every tendon in her body screaming with adrenalin. Her foot was still pressing down on the brake, the first limb she would move in these moments after the near accident. She would then slip her hands from the wheel, small dents in the leather where her nails had dug into it, to her lap where they would remain for a time. The muscles in her neck would seem to creak loudly in her ears as she lifted her head up, eye line climbing up the dashboard, along the bonnet,

..the doe shall appear, unafraid..

and to a white deer that stood there. Their gazes locked, her blue eyes to the animals dark, almost black ones.
Then the spell would be broken as the animal turned away with a flick of its tail and disappeared into the woods.
She would be left with the odd feeling that she had just been told off by her grandmother.

After the near accident she paid more attention to the road, reducing her speed considerably and trying not to hear the subtle noise that was still with her, much reduced, but audible. It didn't worry as much as it should as it was with her before the accident, so it wasn't anything that should need the attention of a doctor. So she drove on and eventually it became so distant that she was not even aware of it any more. Further along the road, not far from her destination another animal, this time a rabbit crossed the road in front of her,

Then a second shall pass, not as it appears,..

because she was going at a slower speed there was plenty of time to stop a reasonable distance from it. the rabbit paused for a moment as if weighing her up, then turned tail and vanished back the way it had come. The woman shook her head bemused before crossing the stone bridge that would take her into the village where her gran had lived most of her life.
The front door wasn't locked so she let herself in, taking her boots off at the door out of habit and respect for her grandmothers memory, and laying them on the mat under the empty coat hooks. She didn't even think about how easy it had been to get into the house. there were crooks and petty thieves in the area, but, by the quick inventory and room check she did, none had entered. She had the feeling that they hadn't even come close to the cottage. it felt safe somehow. secure. She remembered when she was very young they had stayed overnight one weekend. That had been the one time she had woken up during the night, with a big storm blowing outside. The wind howling at full voice and the rain battering itself against her bedroom window. She had cried out and her grandmother had appeared instantly, as if she had been waiting just outside the room. The girl had cried, afraid of the noise, her grandmother holding her in a warm embrace, running her fingers lightly back and forth through the girls hair. She had told her the tale of the wild hunt that night, and how it was a great spirit who had, in the olden days protected villages and made sure that if anyone had died that they would be taken to the Summer lands in a great host. A bit like the Valkyries of Viking mythology. The girl had asked if the summer lands were in heaven and if the wild hunt were angels like the ones that took granddaddy. The old woman had laughed, saying that heaven was the summer lands, and that yes, they were like angels. The girl had then snuggled back down into the covers and fell asleep with her gran watching over her.
The woman smiled at this memory, thinking about how trusting the young were. still, it must have had some effect on her. She could still feel a kind of protection around the place. Safe.
Well, all this reminiscing wasn't getting the job done she had come here to do.
She hung up her coat, a shiny skin alone on the rack of hooks, and pulled on her house shoes; a pair of comfortable loafers, deciding as she did so that the best place to start was the master bedroom. No particular reason, it was as good a place to start as any.

Shelving filled three walls of the room, the only wall that was bare being the one upon which the bed was jammed up against. Then again the headboard took up most of that space, with a framed brass pressing of a cart and horse taking up the remainder. All the time she had spent in here and she still didn't know what the wall paper looked like,
having only the spines of books to look at. she had memorised each and every one; the authors names and titles. Names like Waite and Gardner; titles such as THE BOOK OF THE LAW and THE SEA PRIESTESS (that one was by a woman called Dion Fortune. the girl who had read this didn't know who he or she was, but she liked the name and promised herself to ask her gran if she could read it. She had woken up later, the idea completely gone until she was halfway home in the car, by then it was too late and she just didn't bother even asking her parents. They went kind of funny when she asked them about gran, clamming up instantly, or changing the subject.) as well as others she couldn't even read. Ones with funny letters she hadn't been taught in school. When she thought about it now it did seem a bit odd that she had a fascination for what was on the shelves, but as a kid she had never took one down. She might have been told at one point that she wasn't to touch, but it felt like a false memory Not to be trusted, so it probably wasn't true.
Whatever had stopped her from handling the books didn't seem to be there any more. Her curiosity was full blown, fingers actually itching to feel the exotic paper, Paper that actually seemed to hum as she looked over them again. She began to feel the strange feeling she had in the car earlier. The thrumming of some sort of electricity as it passed overhead, or underfoot. Wherever it originated from she gave herself over to it, not afraid, but nervous, as if something was about to happen.
She found the book that had stuck in her mind as a child and pulled it free from its place leaving a crisp gap between the two volumes at either side. A gap that you could have drawn with a ruler then coloured in using a black permanent marker. She read the title again, for the first time seeing it on the front, her fingers, still tingling, running softly over the raised letters that stood proud above a illustration of a woman of indeterminate age, standing with her hands raised against a fat moon. the wind was obviously blowing as the garment she wore seemed to ripple about her, clinging in some places while billowing out in others., her minds ear giving the movement a silky rippling sound as the priestess chanted verse and rhyme, an ancient rite to call down the moon, while her followers whispered in musical voices, prayer to Aradia, the Goddess who presided with them.
The woman placed her hand over the book and closed her eyes, opening them a moment later.
No. She could not start this now. she had a job to do and do it she must.
Carefully she pressed the thin volume back into its place, intending to come back to it when she had finished. But it was as if the book did not want to go back in. She had pushed it in just over half way when it stuck.
Puzzled, she pulled it back out and reached into the gap to find out what was stopping it from going right in. The woman found the culprit after some searching and pulled out a small thick, leather bound note book which had obviously been there for some time.
Curious she opened it to the first page. On it was written, in her grandmothers fine handwriting her own name (she and her grandmother shared the same name) a date, which looked to be over thirty years old, and three other words
Book Of Shadow.
The woman began to turn the pages of this notebook that had her name in it.

..............................................

She slid the book back into its place in the book shelf.
It had been four weeks since she had moved into the cottage, her own meagre belongings still in their boxes, filling a corner of the living room. The only exception was the laptop, open but sleeping on the bed she now used. There was a desk in the room, its old wood nearly petrified to stone, inkwell long since dry to powder. she would have used it, but she was more comfortable sitting on the floor where she could just reach up and grab the next book while she was reading them. They fascinated her, drawing her into another world which she hadn't been aware of. An invisible world full of exotic creatures and powerful women, with wicked men. It could have been her own story, bar the creatures (come to think of it now, she did know one or two of those as well) with a twist that could make you dizzy. Except it couldn't. Not to her any way. It kind of felt right. like the time her first visitor appeared at her door, seeming to want something, only after a few awkward minits did she realise that this person thought she was a witch, like her gran.
She understood that now. Her gran had been the village wise woman, looking after the health and well being of the villagers. It fitted with the fact that no one had come into the cottage while it had been empty. They had been scared.
Annie had read the book of shadows again, this time with a bit of knowledge from the books; she had been about halfway through them at the time, and understood it a lot better now. Her visitor had been mentioned in passing and Annie could understand how the man had seemed a bit nervous. He had been needing certain ointment that her gran kept in the cupboard in the kitchen, along with many other such things. So the next time the man came to her she would know exactly what he was looking for. Which he did the next day, same time. Annie had given him the jar along with an understanding smile, and he had scampered; politely, but as quick as he could. She had shut the door and laughed quietly until her sides hurt. Then she made herself some tea and went back to reading.
This seemed to open some sort of flood gate. After this incident more people came to her looking for some item or other. ointments, elixirs potions, all were listed under the peoples names and in the right place on the storage shelf, and area that, as time went on became emptier and emptier. At the back of her mind she always knew she would run out. Now it was actually happening she started to panic. With no let up in the stream of people she had to do something. Again the book came to her aid. with ingredients and methods listed at the back she attempted her own home made concocting.
The first return customer appeared soon after she began, her first customer with the embarrassing problem. Annie was shocked by the quickness he had come back, thinking that at least she would have a few days more at least, considering what the lotion was for. She had to tell him to come back later that day and she would have things ready.
He returned later, bag of apples in one hand and a plastic bottle of what she considered as Cider in the other. They exchanged items wordlessly and he left. Annie wondering how well she had done, and how she could get away at a moments notice if she had to.
It didn't take long to find out.
When she saw his outline through the doors frosted glass an hour later her heart sank. It was time to go.
Annie turned away, hoping against hope that she hadn't been seen. He called her name and she knew the game was up. It was just as well that she never took any money. A bottle of Cider and a bag of apples could be given back, no problem, apart from the one she had eaten while reading her current book.
Well. She would answer him and get it over with.
'Wait a minit' she called, composing herself enough.
'Its aright miss' came the unexpected answer 'I'll just leave the pie at the door. No one will touch it and you can get it when your decent. The missus says thanks and is looking forward to having you as our new witch'
The figure bent down, (she remembered his name. Frank Platter. Married to Sylvia) putting something; the pie she presumed, on the door stoop, straitened up, and moved away. Annie was sure she could hear his whistling.
Well, that's dinner sorted out for tonight, she thought bemused.

The rest of that day she took off. Books and pie kept her company until about nine, when cider invited itself to the gathering. It was welcomed with open arms and raised glasses through until the plastic bottle was empty. Everything went down well. She wasn't sure if it was the local ingredients, or of a secret method, but by the time she went to bed the cider and pie had all but gone. Annie retired to bed drunk and happy. Tomorrow was another day. A day to start getting herself together now that some important decisions were made. For one thing her dad would have to be told of her decision to stay here. Things had really changed, she had changed. Country life seemed so much more comfortable that her own current one. Less stress. Less mortgage. Annie didn't think earning a living here would be a problem. She was more or less pushed into the job of looking after the local populace, and they seemed to like her and would honour an agreement made god only knows how many centuries ago, so it was more or less a done deal.
Annie slipped into sleep, dreams of witches and potions filling her mind, and in her unconscious mind she knew she had come home.
A muffled thump and a puff of dust, smoothly and easily, paper against paper. She gave the last book a final nudge to set it home.
The book in its place she gathered up her notes and laptop, piling both on the bed until there was time to sort it all out. Looking at the mess she wondered if her gran would approve of how she was doing, of what she was doing. The entire collection of books read, important stuff noted down, and cast aside. Never to be read again. She probably did, but it made no difference Annie decided. What was done was done.
The only thing to do now was what was to become of the library. Annie had no use for them now, but didn't feel that they were hers to give away. Somehow it felt that they belonged more to the cottage than the person that lived there. It was silly she knew, but it felt about right, and if there was one thing she had learned after she had taken over the position was that it made sense to go with your gut rather than your head.
So the books were to remain where they were. Ready for the next tennent who would undoubtedly take over from her when she died. Preferably far into the future.
Anne ran her fingers along the edge of the shelf, feeling the now familiar tingle of power, thus cementing her decision to keep the collection. The laptop and handwritten notes may be her own book of shadows, but this is where the true knowledge lay. In bound paper that didn't need batteries or operating systems to read. It was hard copy Hardcore hard copy
She giggled at this. Only part on the silliness, the other part was a light headedness that was beginning to cover her mind like a soft blanket. Safe and warm against the howling wind outside...
A ringing, not a howling...a bell...The doorbell!
Wrenching herself away from the lulling thrum of the wood she left the room to answer the front door, not knowing who it could be until she actually opened it. She had since put up a foil curtain in front of it to keep the draughts out, and the heat in. this she now pulled aside to find a dark shape filling her doorway. Annie opened the front door, a sigh escaping her as the man reached out.
'Hi dad'
'well? You going to keep your old man waiting here on the threshold of your new home, freezing his ass off?'
'Come in'
He did so, stamping his feet before hand so as not to dirty the carpet.
'Can't stay too long I'm afraid. Got some errands to run. But I'd like to know why my only daughter has not been at work for the past fortnight'
Annie didn't know what to say. Instead she just swept her arm around the hall.
He seemed to understand.
'Well, I'm sure your new clients will appreciate you more than our old ones'
She didn't know what to say. Throat closed up, voice strangled. He looked at her, his expression telling her all she needed to know.
'Still...he continued, seeming to cheer up..I know mum will be proud of you. You seem to have settled into the pointy hat of office'
Shock unlocked her mouth
'Where is mum' she asked, still trying to process all this new information.
'Gone to visit her sister for the weekend' he replied, attention focused on straitening a picture of a cat that hung on the wall.
'Our family has been helping this village for generations...he continued, attention still on the picture..I see you are surprised but..
'Surprised?!' she blurted out'
...but it is just how things are with us. I left when I was twenty, met your mum and had you. Ever wondered how you and your gran have the same name?'
She had. Several times in fact. But she took it as one of those family name things that sometimes happened.
'yes'
'Well now you have a better idea of things. It was all written down centuries by a particularly gifted ancestor, Riddus'
That name was familiar to her. She had read it in one of the books in the cottages library (the notion of things belonging to a building rather than a person had already found a comfortable niche in her mind) although the context escaped her.
'We made sure you were as close to your gran as possible and let things work themselves out, as we knew they would. Your mum..
'I know how my mum felt about it. I can remember'
'But she accepted it, grudgingly, as what needed to happen.'
' I know how you must be feeling..
'Please dad. Dont try second guessing me'
'Of course not'
'I'll phone you tomorrow'
'you sure you will be OK?
She nodded.
Her dad looked at her for a moment longer, seeming to tell if she was telling the truth, or just trying to get rid of him.
'What about you?'
'I'll survive'
Father and daughter stood facing each other a moment longer, trying to work out what each other was thinking. The throwaway comment about old clients he had said earlier had not been lost on her, tacking it to the 'I'll survive' that had just passed his lips and his pale complexion Annie knew that things were not good. Now she understood the purpose of his visit.
'Honestly dad. I'll be fine.' she smiled reassuringly 'I have lots to do today'
'If you are sure'
Her eyebrows went up. Her mothers expression.
'Right' he chuckled ' you are sure. I need to go now anyway. Important appointment.'
She opened the door for him, glad he could not see her face.
'No bother dad. Give mum my love when she gets back.'
'I will' He stepped outside 'Oh, by the way...she had just enough time to rearrange her features before he turned fully around...You will probably get an invite to attend a dinner from Ravencall manor at some point this week. I cant stress enough that you should not, under any circumstances go. OK?'
'OK dad'
'well. Bye, see you soon enough punkin'
He turned away again and began making his way up the path.
Annie did not answer him. Instead she watched him leave her garden, a young boy walking in the opposite direction called to him
'Evening Mr Wych'
'Good evening Samuel. Your dad got some Cider in'
'Yep. Pressed em myself yesterday. Want to keep you some?'
'That would be great. Swing around to your place later on. Blessed be Sam.'
'Blessed Be Mr Wych'


The door shut behind her, her kick of such force as to cause the jamb to lock itself. Jars rattled and a coat fell from its hook. Her anger at her parents rippled through the small building in a wave that faded as it left the stone walls.
Childish though it may be she felt somehow betrayed. Railroaded into a life that she had no control over. Her destiny not of her own making, not just by her parents and grandparents, but by specifcly, Riddus. A person she didn't even know, who didn't even know her, separated as they were by hundreds of years. For all Annie was aware of he could have been a creep. The exact type of  man who she had known. It would be a turn indeed if the type of men who had tried to control her in the past, had written a book about her life as was, as will be. Annie could see that her dad had more or less accepted this, and knew why her mother had such a problem with it. Was a witch not supposed to be a strong independent woman free from the bonds of a patrician society?.
She shook her head, more to clear it than to deny a fact. So much for the simple life.
Well, standing around feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to get anything done today. She had a mountain of cleaning to do, on top of her obligations to her new clients. The place was starting to aggravate her sinuses, not having been cleaned since moving in, the chore she had meant to do first before getting caught up in others affairs. This she would do now. Then once things were all spick and span again, she would hang a 'back in an hour' sign on the door and take a walk through the village, get some air, doing what she wanted for once.





Candlelight flickered.
'She then taketh the tyme to givee the howse a cleansing that it never seen beyfore making all dust flye. her face stone as she goeth.'

Annie sped along.

'in the place she cooketh a glass round from a dark stove breaketh on the floor, a peiyce causing her to curse fowl'

'Fuckaduck!'
Annie grabbed some kitchen towel as blood began to drip from her hand. She was so concerned with not making more mess that she caught her head on the corner of the microwave door.

'Twice she curseth. Her hed giving her much payne. her mynd afar. Get a grip She thinketh, for she must complete the task before she leaveth for the mansion that she knows not yet her feet will take her, all while her will be strong to the..
Riddus pauses
strong to the what?
He shakes his head and tries again.

Annie throws the cloth into the sink.
'Strong to the purpose' says her mouth, ears hearing the words 'To hell with this'
If any client had been calling in that moment they would have seen Annie appear in the hallway suddenly, heard the twin thumps as she kicked off her house shoes, pulled on her walking boots; newly bought for this very purpose, and moved quickly out of the way as she erupted from the doorway, pulling on her coat. it was an old coping mechanism. Whenever she got wound up she would go for a walk, whatever the weather (in fact, the colder the better) to cool off, away from the temptation of violence, which, in her opinion never solved anything. Still, this time was different. Instead of going out with nowhere to go, she had a destination in mind. Ravencall manor. She wasn't sure exactly where it was, but a huge house out in the middle of nowhere could not be too hard to find, could it?
Well, whatever the outcome she was the mistress of her own fate, and no man was going to tell her what to become.
Annie's stride quickened, confidence in her pace lending her speed.
In the right direction as it happened.

There was a slapping sound as the quill, damp with perspiration hit the wooden surface of the desk. Firelight played across Riddus face on which a pained expression had made its home. This was the first time a thing like this ever happened to him. Yes, sometimes it was difficult, muddy visions giving him third eye strain; the low hum of working magik almost gone, but never a complete block, his methods, tried and tested failing him completely. Then again, he had never really seen this woman before, so perhaps it was something to do with her. A clash of personality causing a temporary short circuit. Even someone who was doing this as long as he did not expect everything to go smoothly with every use, even being as frustrating as it was all he could do was try again until it worked. Riddus lifted the quill, after some effort, sweat in the instrument had dried, acting like a glue. Only use of a knife getting enough purchase to separate wood from feather. Breathing deeply he shut his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the moment he had lost until he could feel the tingle grow in his forehead. When he had accomplished this Riddus opened his eyes, outer vision blurred as the inner cleared to show events that were unfolding in another time.
He began to write:
'And thee Lyons shall meet her at the doorway...

She could almost feel them looking at her. Stone eyes solid in their sockets, somehow alive. Silly of course. She persuaded herself to ignore the statues and concentrate on the figure that was waiting for her in the doorway; a tall youngish man who had white hair and even whiter skin. He reminded her of the rabbit she could so easily have killed on the way to the cottage so long ago. The white hair was cut as short as the animals fur and the blackness of his stare seemed to reflect her image as the animals had done.
Christ! What was happening to her. First the stone lions freaked her out, then this poor (but handsome, and strangely alluring..) man reminded her of a bunny. Annie lifted her hand out as she came near, his response mirroring her own. The man's grip was strong, yet caring. She noted this, more as a way to bring herself back to earth than for any other practical reason.
Pleasantries exchanged he reached into his pocket and lifted out a piece of paper, handing it to her with an air of practised resignation. Annie took it, not knowing what to think until she had unfolded it and read;

I am mute. Sorry.

Annie folded the piece of paper into its creases and handed it back, bewilderment at the apology. In response she gave the thumbs up, letting him know that it was all right.
He gave her a puzzled look, then, with a grin he pointed to his mouth, nodding, then his ear shaking his head.
She laughed, getting the message.
'Sorry'
 He gave her the thumbs up then handed her another piece of paper from nowhere. Annie took it, confidently this time.

Please leave all phones and electrical gadgets downstairs switched off.
My lord uses heart monitoring equipment and such interferes with this vital machinery.
Thank you for understanding.

The man gestured for her to come inside, with a long sweep of his arm, its arc ending in a pointed finger, indicating that she should place any and such items on a table, his assurances that they would be quite safe shown with a protective cupping of hands. He looked as if he was about to pray, but she got the idea.
Annie removed her blackberry from a pocket; the device beeping once, as she crossed the threshold into the lobby. The man moved behind her and softly closed the heavy door, the noise of the hinges covering the grind of stone on stone as two pairs of eyes rotated in their sockets, following her into the house. One of the figures gave off a low growl.
Annies flesh crawled. She hadn't noticed how warm it had been outside until it was gone. Replaced by the chilling atmosphere of the lobby. She was quite happy to leave her belongings here, as long as they were secure, but removing her coat was not even an option, the full coat hooks and the sheepish look on the man's face letting her know that it was another requirement.
'No. the coat stays on.' she pulled it tighter into herself to emphasize her determination.
Obviously a bit flustered the man went back into his pocket.
'Christ! That man has a bit of paper for everything!'
she fully expected him to hand her a stern note telling her to 'take a hike sweetheart, the master does not approve. Do not pass GO do not collect two hundred pounds! REJECT! REJECT!'
and she would go, sweeping her phone as she exited the door with as much graceful disgust as possible. Never to return, end of story Amen.
Instead he pulled out a piece of chalk.
Then walked over to a bearu near the door and opened the drawer.
Curious she followed him across the short distance. The man lifted a large piece of what looked like slate to her, roughly the same length and width as her laptop at home, and placed it flat on the polished wood. Immediately he began to write, the script somewhat different from the polite notes she had been given earlier.

I know, its cold. I'm freezing my ass off just now. But I can promise it gets warmer as we go up.

He turned to her. Annie nodded that she understood.
He continued on:

How about you keep it on until we get further up. He wont know and I'll never tell.

He turned to her again, one eyebrow raised.
Annie gave her co conspirator the thumbs up

Agreed then. First, to destroy the evidence.

Grabbing the front of his t-shirt he wiped clean the words from the slate, making it grey again as the words dissappeared from sight: evidence of their discussion well and truly erased. He opened the front of the desk again, with some effort, the cold apparently having its way with the wood also, threw in the makeshift blackboard, then pushed the drawer shut as hard as he could, obviously expecting the same resistance he got when opening, not being wrong on this account either.
This done he offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation. Annie was not one to make snap decisions about people, god knows life had taught her to wait at least a month before she could pin people to the wall, so to speak, but this man had something about him. Not exactly a harmlessness; his dark eyes belied the exact opposite, but more an old world charm, as if he was older than he looked, which she thought was altogether possible. She had no way of telling for sure. Another enigma that drove her nuts, yet attracted her... Silly fool she thought as they made their way to the top landing. She wasn't some young green thing who couldn't control herself at the first strong arm that carried her on a journey. She was Annie Wych, (or A Wych as she thought of herself now. It seemed to fit) career woman and depended upon.
Now making their way along an upper gallery she could feel the temprature begin to change. Heat seemed to come from vents that were placed evenly along the walls, each one to the left of a large window that held curtain and netting; billowing softly in the air current,  and to the right of a painting that showed either a landscape, one or two that seemed familiar to her, or a face with the same features repeated over and over again. Ancestors she presumed, though not of her escort. Annie glanced at him again to confirm this, and sure enough it was true. He caught her gaze and rolled his eyes, obviously picking up on her thought. He shook his head. “Not yours?” she asked, repeating herself when he jabbed his finger in the direction they were going “Not yours. The lord of the manor's”
A blankness skimmed over his dark eyes momentarily, then he gave her the thumbs up and pointed to a door.
“Come in” said a quiet, authoritiv  voice from the shut room.
Annie suddenly remembered her promise and quickly removed her coat as her escort reached for the door. She half expected the hinges to creak as it moved, but, whoever looked after the place was good at their job, the old heavy wood giving way to touch as smoothly as possible, the only sounds from the dim space beyond; a wet hissing noise; like laboured breathing, and a barely audible low hum that she wanted to believe was the electricity working machines that kept the person who belonged to the voice alive.
“Come in Annie. I have been looking forward to meeting you. My informants speak very highly of your skills. A trait you no doubt take from your late grandmother, whome I believe shared the same name as yourself”
Annie couldn't see very far into the room, even after her eyes had time to adjust the interior was still murky.
A tap on her shoulder and a thrust piece of paper informed her that the lord of the manor had a rare skin condition sensitive to light.
Annie didn't know what to make of this, but she made sure she remembered the direction of the door in case she needed to make a run for it.
“I know this might seem a bit, I think the term is dodgy, but I can assure you that you are in no danger. In fact...”
“Hello Annie. I did tell you not to come up here”
Her dad emerged from the shadows, smiling warmly, a second figure materilising beside him.
“Mum?” she asked, totally shocked “What are you doing here...I thought...”
“I havent been to church for years darling,” her mother replied “It's a long story, for another time,”
“Dad?”
“Has been looking after my outside businesses for quite some time and is now ready for..ah..retirement. His replacement is already in place”
“I had to tell you what I did darling so that you wouldnt come back.” he fathers tone was almost apologetic.
“Why did you not just tell me all of this to begin with. I dont understand why all the manipulation”
“Because you would have reacted badly.” replied her mother.
Annie snorted.
“Most unlady like,” laughed the shape
Annie spun towards him. Strong hands instantly grabbed her from behind, promising violence if she started arguing. She knew without having to look who was restraining her..
“Thats fine William. She will do no harm.”
The vice grip vanished from her.
“Go and deal with the important matter. It's about time.”
William and her parents moved away from her, back towards the door, a brief lighting of the dim as the dorr was opened again then back to a new darkness.
“There. It is just you and I now.” the figure spread its arms.
“Lets talk.”
“I'm listening”
“first off, what I said earlier. My flock has really taken to you, so I like you. Things seem to be going well, your skills as a healer,” the figure lifted its hand, staying her protests
“Dont be modest. It upsets me when I see talent downbeating itself. Good. Dont downplay your gifts, but dont flaunt them either, that is a rule I absoulutly require to be respected. There are good reasons that I do not need to share with anyone else.”
“Second. You and I will need to meet reguralily for a while. There are other things I require from you besides caring for my flock.” he laughed, just as the thought was forming in her head “Nothing of a personal nature I assure you. More of a tutorial role. Your gran has already put you on this path as I requested, and I know you have read most of my books at least once since you moved back. How do I know? How do I also know that you found them facinating as a child but never went near them? This I can and will teach you, as well as lots of other things you need to know to complete your full duties. That is if you decide to stay and accept my offer. You will, wont you?”
Annie got the impression that refusal was not an option. But she wasnt going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had her fascinated by him and the offer. That she had already decided to stay.
“I'll sleep on it”
“No other answer was expected. Not from Annie Wych's grandaughter.”
He clapped his hands, a dry sound of wasted leather on Oak wood.
“Excellent. Then there is only one order of business left, this I think important. I know who you are and what you do, so now you will want to know who I am, quite natural. Let me introduce myself” He leaned forward, the light seeming to brighten around his head. The steady humming grew in pitch for a moment then steadied back down to a low, if slightly more powerful hum. “Pleased to finally meet you Annie Wych. You have been giving me a headache for nearly three hundred years.
My name is Charles Riddus Wych”