by Helen Harper
Chapter Five
If I hadn’t been in such a rush to get back so I could say my goodbyes to Inverness then I’d probably have run up all the way up to Clava Cairns in my jogging gear. At least working up a sweat might have staved off the cold somewhat and it would have given me the chance to start to recoup some of my earlier fitness levels. As it was though I was itching to get this last errand done and out of the way so I could get on my way. I hopped onto the local bus to try to cut down on some time. Typically, however, despite the almost complete lack of passengers, the bus seemed to stop every ten metres at every single bus shelter along the way. I could feel my irritation rising and annoyed heat coiling itself around my intestines. I was tempted to march up to the driver and demand that he move just a little bit faster but I had the sense that if I tried anything like that he’d deliberately take his time and fall behind schedule.
After twenty-five minutes of continual stopping and starting, a greasy looking guy clambered onboard, huffing and puffing as he lurched up the aisle. There was the distinct reek of stale alcohol emanating out of his pores and I tried to breathe through my mouth and lean away from him as he passed. The memory of Arnie’s pub was still a little raw and the stench coming off the man reminded me of everything about the place. Not that I missed it of course but at least then I hadn’t been bothered by dangerous Fae or slightly clairvoyant old women or threatening Voices.
Just when I thought I was out of the danger zone and he’d passed me by, however, he spun around and jabbed a finger in my direction. “You! You are burning, little girl.”
I shied away and glared at him, trying to ignore the sudden thudding beat of my heart. “Get away from me, little man,” I hissed back at him. “I don’t know you and I don’t know what you are on about.”
I desperately tried to work out what he was. Definitely not Fae or pack but he could sense my blood. Vampire? But, no, it was still too light outside despite the midwinter gloom that hung over the sky. He could be warlock, I supposed. Would my silver work against him? I cast a nervous glance up at the driver and wondered if I could disable the guy without appearing to have really hurt him. We were nearing a bend so when the driver’s attention was completely on the road I thought I could direct a hit at his shins and make a dash for it. The bus doors were automatic but I could probably wrench them open without too much difficulty. This depended on the whisky-sodden creature in front of me though. If he possessed some serious power – and to sense my blood fire he probably had a fair amount already – then a little kick wouldn’t do much to get him out of the way. I started to reach up to loosen the silver needles from hair, just in case. They couldn’t do any harm and it was just possible that silver could be a deterrent for him.
As I did so, however, he spoke again, with a hacking cackle that hinted at a few too many cigarettes burning up his lungs over the passage of time. “Ow! You’re just too hot for words. Will you marry me?”
He dramatically fell to his knees and held out a hand. The bus driver called out from the front with the tone of someone who’d seen all this before. “Jack, stop bothering the young lady and get to a seat.”
The tension immediately fell away from my body. He was just a drunk, trying his luck. I’d never have made this kind of mistake when I was back with the pack in Cornwall. In fact I usually prided myself on being to read people’s body language and intentions. All this paranoia and looking over my shoulder was doing me absolutely no good whatsoever. I was jumping at shadows and harmless locals. Jack, for his part, staggered to his feet, and with the expression on his face of someone who had been terribly wronged weaved his way to the back seat of the bus where he promptly lay down and began snoring loudly. The bus driver shrugged at me apologetically in the mirror.
I sighed deeply and pinched off a headache. Goddamnit. I really was reading too much into things – into everything. Solus was real but perhaps my over-active imagination was working over-time to make me stupidly jumpy at everything else. Mrs Alcoon was probably exactly what she seemed: a little old lady who ran a failing bookshop and had a penchant for nasty herbal tea. In fact even Corrigan’s Voice had been so faint earlier today that maybe I’d even imagined that too. I had to get a grip on reality. Once I re-located somewhere else, somewhere I was sure I’d be safe, then I’d have to do my best to stop freaking out at every little thing.
Fortunately, a few minutes later, the bus pulled up at the stop that I wanted. It was still a couple of miles’ hike to the Cairns themselves, but the path was well worn and clearly marked so I knew it wouldn’t take me long. I shifted my backpack to a comfortable position and tied the straps in front to avoid too much unnecessary bounce and took off at a jog.
The path wound itself around some low lying hills sprinkled with lavender coloured gorse bushes and sprigs of white heather. Occasionally I’d catch the scent of the flowers, but mostly what I smelled was good old-fashioned fresh air. I filled my lungs deeply and stretched out my stride, regulating my breathing to match my gait and enjoying the moment. For the first time in a long time I managed to completely empty my mind of my stresses, worries and loneliness and just savoured the moment. A couple of hikers stopped to let me past along the route, nodding greetings as I whipped past them, but for the rest of the trip I was alone. It had been far too long since I’d felt this close to the natural world and I appreciated every moment.
I rounded a bend and then, far too quickly, the Clava Cairns were in front of me. At first glance there wasn’t a huge amount to see – some standing stones were sprinkled here and there in a pretty clearing, whilst smaller rocks were piled together to form largish circular mounds. The contrast of the mossy grey cairns against the brilliant emerald green of the grass and trees was fairly striking, but the grey skies and cold wind rather marred the effect. I moved closer to the nearest circle and peered at it. There was a raised of lip of stones all around the outside, and I noticed that the rocks seem to have been chosen for colour. Interesting. The ones away from me were definitely redder and larger whilst the ones by my feet appeared smaller and whitish. I wondered idly whether that was by accident or design. One never entirely knew for sure with these kind of ancient burial grounds. One thing I did know though was that whatever bodies the Cairns had entombed, they would definitely be human. Any being connected with the Otherworld used cremation to dispose of their dead; the risk of anything using some form of twisted necromancy to make nefarious use of the bodies left behind was just too strong. I shuddered slightly at the thought. At least necromancy was a power that seemed to have fallen through the mists of time. Much like the Draco Wyr, my traitorous mind whispered before I pushed that thought away without examining it any further.
Leading through two of the cairns were corbelled passage graves. I wandered slowly through one, scuffing the soles of my feet against the rough ground and a few fallen leaves as I did so. It was almost possible to imagine the humans that had come through the same passage to lay their fallen dead reverently inside. Old buildings had always had that effect on me. Once inside the unroofed structure, I trailed my fingers gently across the stones, following the inner circle around. I couldn’t feel any twinge of anything otherworldly but something about the arrangement of the stones triggered my vaguely ritualistic motion. I was glad that the roof was no longer present at least – I always found small spaces somewhat claustrophobic. After a few moments, however, I pulled myself away and back out to the greenery to find Mrs Alcoon’s blisterwort.
It’s not a showy herb, unlike some others I could think of, so it took a bit of time to find enough cuttings to root up to make my journey worthwhile. I carefully placed them inside a small cotton bag that I’d brought just for this purpose and then, with a somewhat lighter heart, headed back down the way I’d come. It was only early, in fact barely three o’clock, but already dusk seemed to be approaching. I scowled to myself at the irritating vagaries of nature that curtailed my daylight hours and then straight away laughed aloud at my nonsensical spi
te. The sound was whipped away almost immediately by the wind, but the suddenness and spontaneity of it made me smile further to myself. Okay, things might be pretty bad on the surface – I had the Lord of the Pack itself after me (and if he found out I was human he’d probably pull me apart limb by limb), no friends and stupid faeries to contend with, but I had my sense of humour and my freedom and the relative excitement of the open road stretching away from me. And let’s face it, things could always be worse.
Chapter Six
The light was already fading from the sky by the time I made it back to the arcade. Most of the shops were shutting up for the day, even though it was still relatively early. If the bright delights of the Scottish trinket shop, posh looking gentleman’s outfitters and old fashioned sweet shop weren’t enticing customers in, then there was little chance that Clava Books was faring well, I thought grimly. Then I tightened my lips and hardened my heart. It wasn’t my problem; I had bigger things to worry about. Staying around Inverness would just bring more trouble down on my head – and, by default, Mrs Alcoon’s also. I couldn’t be responsible for everyone in the world, I just couldn’t… So why did I feel so guilty about running off then?
As I neared the little bookshop, I could see that the lights were on. I noted with some satisfaction that the windows at least looked clear and the place was entirely more inviting and less grubby. From the outside anyway. The bell jangled as I walked in, feeling a bit nervous about the conversation I was about to have.
“Mrs Alcoon? Hello?”
There wasn’t any answer so I figured that she was round the back in the little kitchen or her office. I glanced at my watch. There was just over an hour to drop off the herbs, speak to her, grab my belongings from the bedsit and catch the last bus. I steeled myself and called out again.
“Mrs Alcoon? Are you there?”
The shop remained silent. Cursing slightly under my breath, I headed for the kitchen and popped my head in. An empty cup lay in the little aluminium sink with some green gunk that I took to be some more odd tea leaves lingering in the bottom of it. I turned back out again and went for the office door, knocking first. For fuck’s sake, where was she?
I knocked again and cleared my throat. “Umm…Mrs Alcoon? I need to talk to you. I have the blisterwort too.” I pushed open the office door gently and peered inside. She was sat in a chair behind a neat desk upon which lay a beautiful leather bound notebook and a couple of old books. A desk lamp lit the windowless room, leaving a soft glow. This was the first time I’d been inside the office and I was rather surprised at the tidy appearance. The front of the shop didn’t look anywhere nearly as organised as this. I was caught for a split second by a reminder of John’s little office and then pushed the thought away before it could take further root.
“Mrs Alcoon?”
The old lady shook herself, her eyes deglazing somewhat. “Why, hello Jane. I see you made it back in one piece then.” She smiled at me warmly.
“That I did, Mrs Alcoon, that I did.” I was feeling much more relaxed in her presence now, with the incident with Jack the drunk doing me much more good than harm at reflecting my own over-enhanced insecurities back at me. Another flicker of sadness that I was about to leave ran through me. I pushed it away and instead pulled the herbs out of my backpack. “Here, I’ve got the blisterwort that you were asking me for.”
“Oh, that’s simply wonderful! And so much of it too! Thank you so much for going to all that trouble.”
I felt a warm ripple of pleasure run through me at her words. It was nice to be praised for a change. Mrs Alcoon reached out to take the green leaves from me, brushing my hand as she did so. Before she could take hold of the blisterwort, however, she pulled back and looked at me with a serious glint in her blue eyes.
“You will be safe from him here, Jane. And the other means you no harm.”
Uh, what?
The old lady shook herself. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I…see things. I don’t entirely know what they mean but I get flashes of, well, I suppose some might call of the future.”
I knew it! The pleasure waves vanished and my bloodfire leapt up instead. My eyes narrowed slightly and my body tensed, and I waited for her to elaborate further.
She continued. “You think I’m terribly odd, don’t you? With my funny tea, and my demand for strange herbs from ancient graveyards, I’m not surprised.” She sighed heavily. “In another generation I might have been burned at the stake for being a witch, I suppose. My grandmother had visions just like this – all the time. I can remember they gave her terrible migraines. Of course, I don’t think what I have is strong enough for that. Just odd glimpses now and then. Like now.”
I suddenly wasn’t quite sure what to think. I felt tense and wary and wondered what she was going to come out with next. So she couldn’t only just read minds – she could see into the future as well, some kind of soothsayer or clairvoyant. The familiar swirl of heat rose further inside me. It didn’t possess the nervous flicker or angry flames that it often did although clearly my paranoia wasn’t entirely crazy and misplaced after all.
“You think that you see into the future?” I questioned, my jaw clenching.
She giggled slightly, an odd sound coming from an older woman, though why I thought that I have no idea. “Oh, I don’t know that it’s the future, dear. Just perhaps potential outcomes. Like with the blisterwort for my friend. She’s not that sick, I just have the feeling that there might be something coming on. An illness of some kind. And that this might help. It’s all so silly, really. It felt strong with you, though, stronger than I’ve ever felt before. There’s a man – with dark dark hair and,” she cocked her head slightly, “a kind of feline grace that’s unusual in a man of his size.”
I almost snorted at that last but just managed to contain myself.
“You’re hiding from him,” Mrs Alcoon said, “that’s why you’re here in Inverness. And you are going to leave because you’re worried that he’ll find you here. He won’t though.” She looked serious now. “He wants to find you, but he won’t ever come here. I felt that very strongly. And there’s another one, with golden hair but I can’t see him as clearly. There is a strange sort of mist surrounding him. He means you no harm, though, that I am sure of. You should be flattered at the attention from both. They are terribly handsome.”
She winked at me saucily as she said that last comment, which I found almost as disturbing as the fact that she was suddenly me telling me that she had otherworld powers. I had a pretty good idea to whom she was referring, with both of the ‘men’, and I definitely found neither of their attentions flattering. I also didn’t know whether I could trust her vision or trust her.
“I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, suddenly worried. “Some of the locals here think I’m a bit odd, maybe a few think I’m loopy, but I’m really not. I’d like you to stay, Jane. It’s good for me having someone around and, I think, it’s good for you too.”
I just stared at her, tongue-tied. I wanted to believe her and, it did all make a kind of sense. I knew I’d been worrying about her and what she really was but I was also pretty sure that anything otherworldly about her was just a hint. I’d surely have sensed it otherwise. My mind flashed briefly back again to Jack the drunk on the bus and how wrong I’d been there. That had been different, however, because that was my paranoia imagining things that weren’t there rather than things that were. She had a little bit of power that had been passed down from her family and that was all.
Trust. I hadn’t trusted anyone at all since I’d left Cornwall. I couldn’t tell her about what I really was – that would only put her in danger – but I was starting to think that I could actually trust her with who she was. And maybe it was time to stop running and looking over my shoulder like some frightened rabbit. I’d been a nervous wreck lately. I’d never have let a Fae like Solus frighten me away a year ago. Trying to hide from a Fae was also a particularly pointless thing to attempt a
nyway. I tugged at my hair thoughtfully, wrapping a strand around my finger. People were normally scared of me, not the other way around. As they should be - my temper was legendary. And I was a dragon to boot. Well, almost.
Here I had a job and a roof over my head. I flicked a glance over at Mrs Alcoon looking at me both patiently and benevolently. Maybe I finally had a friend now too. And I couldn’t spend the rest of my life running away. Besides which, she had said that Corrigan wouldn’t come here. For some strange reason I did feel as if I could trust her. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, mentally balancing up my options. Then I smiled at Mrs Alcoon, with what I hoped was conveyed to her as genuine warmth.
“You’re right. I was going to leave. Perhaps you’ve just convinced me to stick around for a while longer.”
“That’s simply fabulous. I am so happy to hear that, Jane.”
I took a deep breath, and a very big chance. “Actually, it’s Mackenzie, not Jane. Mackenzie Smith. You can call me Mack, though, if you want to.” Please do in fact, I don’t like Mackenzie, I thought to myself. No such luck though.
“Mackenzie? What a lovely name. Very Scottish, you know. And it definitely suits you better than Jane. That one just didn’t sit right with me. Now, come along.” She took me by the arm. “Let’s have a cup of tea.”
“Actually, if you put the kettle on, there’s just something I want to get first. To ask you about.”
