‘I dunno. She mentioned st-stones. That was it – the blood of the witch on the stones. I – I don’t know where …’ ‘I do.’ Denny smiled. ‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘How is he?’ Stiles knelt down beside the prostrate Denny. ‘Oh Jesus!’ he said. ‘No, he’s past the worst now,’ said Tamar. ‘Take care of him.’ And before Stiles could argue, she rose to her feet and took off to the stones. ‘What the hell…?’ began Stiles. But Denny had passed out again. This time Tamar knew exactly where she was going, she could feel the pull of the stones from here. It took her a few moments to realise that this was because she was wearing a hundred pounds of iron chain mail and not due to any mystical senses that she might possess. It came in handy though. She could see the fire through the trees. Hundreds of shadowy figures shimmered darkly against the flames. There was laughter and muffled screams. And from the centre of the circle, only just discernible against the background of smoke from the fire, a fog was rising. Tamar felt frozen to the spot – helpless. She could not see Cindy, although she could hear her. Then, even that was drowned out by the sound of chanting. Low at first, so low that she could not make out the words, then louder and louder, faster and faster escalating to frenzy.
