Free Mystical Circles by S. C. Skillman Page A

asked.
    “Not since I’ve been here,” said Edgar, still staring at her.
    “Does Craig support him in his cross-dressing?” she asked. “Or even join him in it?”
    “Why d’you want to know this?” he demanded.
    “Just thought you might know something of Craig’s background, that’s all,” said Juliet.
    A conspiratorial gleam entered his eye. “Digging, aren’t you? For stuff he won’t give you himself?”
    “Could be,” she said. “It’s worth a try.”
    “I can certainly tell you a thing or two,” he hinted. “But only if you complete my questionnaire.” At this, he jumped up, knocking the microphone out of her hand, and lunged at a well-stuffed concertina folder that had until now stood unnoticed by the occasional table.
    “Go easy, Edgar,” she said, getting up too, and bending down to pick up her mike.
    Suddenly she found the researcher looming over her, and coming uncomfortably close.
    “Edgar, I really don’t think…” she began, trying to veer away from him. She could feel his breath on her cheek.
    “Let’s do a deal, you and me,” he said, close to her ear. “I’ll dish the dirt on Craig if you tell me all sorts of personal information about yourself.”
    “Certainly not,” she said, rising abruptly to her feet, causing Edgar to lurch across the rug on top of his concertina file. Oh dear, this wasn’t a very good start to her schedule of interviews. “Sorry Edgar, I do apologise,” she said, helping him to his feet. “But if that’s the price, it’s not on.”
    “Why so secretive?” he asked, springing to his feet once more, with handfuls of crumpled papers, and turning on her. “Why so fearful?”
    “I’m neither of those things. You’ve completely misunderstood me, Edgar,” she said, smoothing her hair down and trying to regain her professional poise. “I’m not afraid of anything. Simply concerned to remain objective.”
    “Ha!” he cried. “Objective. And yet you’ve already tried to turn up titbits on Craig.”
    “Titbits?” she said coolly. “Your word, Edgar. Not mine.”
    They both stood, looking at each other, each breathing faster than usual. She didn’t like this at all.
    “This is almost like Dynamic Meditation,” he remarked.
    She frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
    “Find out tonight.” He tapped the side of his nose, and gave her a knowing look.
    “Very well, Edgar,” she said. “I’ll do just that.”
     
     
    Dynamic Meditation took place that evening in the barn. Surely, thought Juliet, as she stood at the rear of the spacious meeting room, with her portable recorder and mike, the original builders of this glorious sixteenth-century tithe barn would never have imagined that such use would ever be made of it. She gazed at the roof, a dazzling criss-cross of beams and wooden vaulting. Yes, the tenant farmer may well have held barn dances; but surely nothing of the nature of what Craig was leading his followers into right now.
    By nine o’clock the lights had been dimmed, and the sound of heavy metal music echoed up to the roof trusses, ricocheted off the hayloft and rebounded all around the stone walls. The hayloft, or upper room, could be accessed by two spiral staircases, one at the west side, and one at the east. Juliet had positioned herself beside the foot of the west one. She was trying to make herself heard as she explained her digital recording equipment to Don. Following Llewellyn’s words, he’d clearly felt sufficiently emboldened to try this session, but meant to stay at the back watching and listening.
    He moved closer to Juliet in order to hear her words.
    “This machine is a Nagra Ares BB Plus,” she said. “I record on flashcards. Each has only about one gig of memory, not that much, so I’ve brought several for all my interviews.”
    “And your mike? Will it cope with the noise levels?”
    She laughed. “It’s omnidirectional. I’ll hold it as close as possible to Craig when he’s speaking, if I get