The Narrow House

The alleyway was dark, silent, and eerily Gothic, in Kester's opinion.

He stumbled along the cobblestones, trying not to think about muggers lurking in the shadowy doorways. It was one of Exeter's many forgotten backstreets; quaint during daylight hours, but disquieting by night, and the decades of rain, pollution, and grime that abused the surrounding brickwork was highlighted by the weak glow of the streetlight.

Trust Miss Wellbeloved to live somewhere that looks like a setting for a Dickens novel, he thought, peering through the gloom. He checked her text message to confirm the address — No. 12, The Mint. She'd also added, Come quickly, I'll explain everything.

He certainly hoped so. Ever since he'd told his father about Anya's disappearance, not to mention her baffling message about the mysterious Thelemites, Dr Ribero and Miss Wellbeloved had been most secretive — giving away nothing, only insisting he meet them that very evening. He was exhausted, but relieved. It might be late, but at least he had a hope of getting some answers rather than spending the night wide awake, fretting.

Miss Wellbeloved's house was at the end of the alleyway; a weathered old property every bit as straight, severe, and narrow as its owner. He rapped the brass knocker, briefly breaking the quiet. A lone candle burned in the window, but otherwise, the house was entirely dark.

Kester waited, shivering.

Finally, a light went on at the window. The door opened, revealing a familiar eye, then the rest of Miss Wellbeloved's face.

"Hello, Kester," she whispered. "Fancy seeing you again so soon."

He stepped in, wiping his feet on the mat. "I know. And there was me, thinking we'd all get a restful night."

Miss Wellbeloved smiled ruefully, then shut the night out behind them.

He looked around. Her hallway was spartan yet cosy, and the wall-lamp cast an amber glow across the walls. A slender staircase led into darkness, and ahead, he spotted a farmhouse kitchen, a homely contrast to the lonely alley outside.

"Your father's getting the fire going," she said, waving him down the corridor. "Why don't you go and join him? Straight ahead, then turn left."

Kester headed along the dark floorboards until he came to a snug little room, stuffed with two oversized sofas and a stone fireplace. True to Miss Wellbeloved's word, Ribero was crouched in front of it, puffing at the kindling with alarming ferocity.

"Hi, Dad," Kester said, loitering by the door.

His father held up a finger, then blew once more on the firewood. A flame leapt up, immediately licking at the bundles of newspaper. "Aha," he said with satisfaction, prodding the pile with a poker. "Now we are in the business, yes?"

"Thanks for coming out tonight to see me," Kester said as he settled himself on the nearest sofa, watching the spreading flames. "Though you're being rather mysterious about it all."

His father blew on the fire again, then leant backwards, massaging his neck. "That is because you mentioned the Thelemites, Kester."

"What are the Thelemites? Should I be worried? Are they going to do anything bad to Anya?"

Ribero shook his head. "Wait until Jennifer is here. Then we will tell you everything."

As though on cue, Miss Wellbeloved poked her head around the door. "Do either of you want a glass of wine?"

"Do you need to ask?" Ribero said, smoothing his moustache.

Miss Wellbeloved smiled. "It's not an Argentinian wine, I'm afraid."

"Which means it will be sub-standard. But I will accept it, nonetheless."

"How very decent of you. Kester, glass of red or white?" "White, please," he replied and leaned back against the soft cushions, which spread deliciously around his tired back.

His father, satisfied that the fire was now alight, laid a couple of logs on top and made himself comfortable. "Have you heard anything else from this girlfriend of yours?" he asked, eyes glittering in the firelight.

Kester shook his head. "Nothing. Just one message from Anya, and that's it."

Ribero frowned. "And she never mentioned the Thelemites to you before?"

"No."

"You are sure?"

Kester smiled faintly. "I think I would remember a name like that."

An echo of footsteps down the hallway announced Miss Wellbeloved's return. She handed them their wine, then nodded apologetically at her own drink, which happened to be a mug of hot chocolate. "I simply cannot drink past ten o'clock," she said, sitting beside Kester. "It sends me straight to sleep and gives me a stinking headache the next day."

Kester smiled, noticing her hollow eyes and wan expression. "I'm sorry to land this on you, when we've all only just got home." They'd spent today driving back from Dundee, after a nightmarish week solving a particularly complex case involving a murderous fetch. He knew that the last thing they needed was another problem to deal with.

She flapped her hand at him. "Don't be silly. We're here to help."

"Why don't you start by telling us what you know, Kester?" His father leaned forward, glass pressed between his palms.

Kester shrugged, sipping his drink. "I don't really know much," he said. "I've only known Anya properly for a month or so, if that."

"Does she seem normal?" Miss Wellbeloved asked, studying his face intently.

Kester considered her question. He'd spent so long in the company of rather strange people like Miss Wellbeloved and his father that he wasn't quite sure what a normal person was like anymore.

"I think she's normal," he said finally. "She certainly didn't seem like she was going to disappear without prior warning, if that's what you mean."

"Did she mention any clubs or secret societies?" Kester took a gulp of wine. It was welcome after a long, tiring day. "No, of course not. Well, only her book club. But nothing secretive."

"A book club?" Ribero fixed his gaze on Kester. "Are you sure it was a book club?"

"No, not really," Kester replied. "But why would she lie about something like that?"

"Did you ever meet anyone from her book club?"

Kester shook his head.

"Let me guess," Miss Wellbeloved said. "They meet on Wednesday evenings?"

"How on earth did you know that?"

She nodded at Ribero, who looked grim. "Thelemites," they chanted in unison.

Kester looked at them blankly. "Please explain."

"Gosh, where to start?" Miss Wellbeloved cupped her drink, gaze roving over the fire as though seeking inspiration from the flames. "The Thelemites are an ancient secret society. There's several Thelemite lodges across the world; but the Exeter branch is particularly well-established. Because of its proximity to Glastonbury, you see."

"What, Glastonbury Festival?" Kester asked, blinking.

"No, you silly boy, not because of the festival!" Ribero barked. "Do they teach you nothing at school these days?" "Hang on, is there some link between King Arthur and Glastonbury?"

Ribero snorted, moustache bristling with unbridled irritation. "Yes, it is one of the most spiritually important places in the world, my boy! How can you not know this?"

"Remember," Miss Wellbeloved interrupted, "Kester's only been doing this job for a few months. He's got a lot to learn, Julio." She turned to Kester with a smile. "Have you heard of Glastonbury Tor?"

Kester thought about it. He was sure his...