Tamsin was just shutting the system down when the desk phone rang, making her jump. She picked up the handset, wondering who could be calling at this late hour. “Ashton Animal Shelter, how can I assist you?”
“Tamsin Farley?”
A prickle of unease ran over her skin. She glanced at the display on the phone, but the screen said Caller ID unknown. “Yes, speaking. How can I help?”
“There’s a dog on Fair Hill. Up by the stones.” The voice was no more than a hoarse, raspy whisper, but Tamsin thought it was a man. “It’s hurt. Hurt bad. It needs help right away.”
“Don’t worry, sir, that’s what we’re here to—hello?” The dull tone of a disconnected call buzzed in her ear. Tamsin held the handset away from her face, frowning at it. “Huh. That’s weird.”
For a moment, she contemplated calling the police. But Betty was off duty, and the other officers weren’t nearly as sympathetic to the ‘mad dog lady’, as she’d overheard a couple of them calling her once. Annoying the cops with what was probably a prank call wouldn’t improve her reputation.
“Let’s go check it out, Angus,” she decided. “If there really is a hurt dog up on the hill, we can’t leave it frightened and in pain while we sit around here.”
Still, as she gathered up her coat and dog-catching gear, she couldn’t help remembering Betty’s strange warning. Betty had warned her not to take the shortcut home…
The shortcut that ran right past Fair Hill.
* * *
Tamsin whistled, swinging the beam of her flashlight around. “Here, fella! Here boy! Anyone out there?”
She held her breath, listening. The night breeze carried the faint thrum of traffic on the distant main road, and the occasional bleat of a sheep. A tawny owl hooted, once, high and lonely. At her feet, Angus let out a low growl.
“You smell anything?” she asked him.
The Pomeranian growled again, staring up at the dark bulk of Fair Hill rising above them. Angus wasn’t a search and rescue dog—all her efforts to train him had been met with a withering stare—but he was good at finding animals who needed help. When he felt like it.
Now, something up the hill definitely had his attention. She listened again, and this time caught the faintest hint of a canine whimper. It seemed to be coming from the very top of the hill, up near the standing stones. She played the beam of her flashlight over the grassy slope, searching, but the light wasn’t powerful enough to reach far.
“You’d better wait here, Angus.” She looped his lead over the nearest fencepost, next to her bicycle. “Don’t want you scaring off the poor creature.”
Angus growled again, his eyes still fixed on the hill. His orange fur stood on end, making him look like a furious pompom with feet. As she started off, he lunged forward, sinking his tiny teeth into her boot heel as though to drag her back.
“Hey, little guy, there’s no need for that. I won’t be long.” With effort, she managed to wrench her foot free from his determined jaws. She gave him a last reassuring pat. “You know I always come back.”
Chalky soil slid under her heels as she picked her way up the slope. Fair Hill wasn’t that high, but it was steep, and there weren’t any trails to follow. People didn’t come here often, thanks to all the Protected Historic Site: No Public Access warning signs posted around the place. Sheep avoided Fair Hill too, and even rabbits seemed to shun it.
Perhaps the animals could sense that the hill wasn’t natural. The perfectly round, smooth shape showed that the mound had been raised by human hands.
Or maybe not.Tamsin smiled as she remembered the local legend that she’d learned at her grandma’s knee. According to folklore, this was a faerie hill; a gateway between the ordinary world and fairyland. That was why it was called Fair Hill—after the Fair Folk. The faeries, or the fae.
Hope I’m not chasing a fae hound,she thought whimsically, thinking of the magical green-furred creatures that had featured in some of her grandma’s stories. Or even worse, a hellhound. I think they’d be pretty hard to re-home.
The whimpering sounds grew louder as she ascended, drawing her on. She quickened her pace, scrabbling up to the top of the hill. She stopped for a moment, getting her breath back, before whistling again. “Here boy! It’s okay, I’m here to help.”
The whimpers didn’t change. It was definitely close now. The soft, pitiful cries tugged at her heart.
Must be hiding behind one of the stones.
Everyone in Little Ashton-by-the-Hill knew the stones. There were five of them, old and gray and worn, crowning the hill in a rough, uneven circle. They were hardly the towering monoliths of Stonehenge; just lumpy, waist-high blocks. Yet somehow they had a presence beyond their unimpressive size. They were always cold, even on the hottest day of summer. And the shadows they cast…
The darkness between the stones swallowed her little beam of light, revealing nothing. The dog whined again.
Tamsin swallowed, moistening dry lips.
They’re just rocks, she told herself firmly. There’s nothing to fear.
“It’s okay,” she said, as much to herself as to the dog. She crouched to make herself less threatening, edging toward the stones. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all—huh?”
There was no dog shivering in fear by the stone. Just a small black cube, a few inches on each side.
Puzzled, Tamsin picked it up. The cube vibrated in her palm, that whimpering sound playing once more.
It’s a wireless speaker,she realized. It’s streaming a recording from a phone.
Which meant…someone else was up here with her.
Hands shoved her back, hard. The speaker flew from her hand as she pitched forward. Somewhere at the bottom of the hill, Angus was barking, high-pitched and furious. Much closer, a man shouted something in a strange, harsh language, voice raising in triumph—
And then she fell through the stone circle, and everything went away.