by Molly Ringle
“Any sign yet?” I whispered to Amber, as we lingered in a shadowy hall lined with suits of armor.
“Spidey sense tingling,” she said. “Up to headache phase. I’ll be there soon, I just know it.” She bounced on her toes, beaming quite unlike most people with a headache, and then danced over to Laurence, who peered into the visor of an old iron helmet.
Shannon meandered up next to me. “Cool beans, huh?”
I had to love Shannon. She said stuff like “Cool beans” in all sincerity.
“Exceedingly cool beans,” I agreed. We trailed the group through the hall into an old windowless dining room of some kind. “So, those theater people you met at the pub. Going to take them up on their offer?”
“I would, but...” She touched the worn wooden paneling. “The meeting’s on Thursday night, and I promised I’d call home for a helping-out session.”
“Not too long a session, I hope. Calls cost scary amounts from here.”
“I know. But Caitlyn’s having trouble with Western Lit, which Thayer’s teaching. I had him for that class, so I can explain what he’s looking for. And Bri got caught shoplifting.”
“Again? Wait--was that her, or was it Caitlyn?” Keeping track of the problems among my cousins was even harder than keeping track of their names.
“It was Bri.” Shannon sighed and transferred her roving fingers to an ancient leather-covered chair studded with brass nails. “So if we can get her on the phone, I want to talk to her, see if I can be a good influence. Then Eli’s got a crush on some girl and Mom thinks I can make him stop moping, and Jeffy wants to complain to me about how he’s not allowed to get another guinea pig, so...”
“Shannon.”
My tone was harsher than I intended. She looked at me with a start.
I softened my mouth and draped my arm around her. “You’re five thousand miles away. You’re on vacation. A working vacation, yes, but you are no longer obligated to care for your family every evening.”
She dipped her head down. “I know. But they need me. I feel bad, leaving for somewhere fun, when they’re so busy...”
“They can take a raincheck. You go out and party with Scottish university students.”
“You don’t think they’d hate me?”
“How could anyone hate you? Now go on. This is an order.”
She smiled, catching my hand at her shoulder and swinging it back and forth. “All right. I’ll go crazy. It’s what we’re here for, right?”
“It is indeed.” I let my arm fall, and we followed the group down another dim stone hallway. “But I got to tell you, sewing costumes doesn’t exactly strike me as full-on craziness.”
“One of the students, the guy who emailed me, is really cute,” she confided.
“Oh yeah?”
“His name’s Thomas, and he’s English, and...” She concluded with a blissful sigh.
“English, huh? I’d say that counts as ‘local’ enough.” I elbowed her. “You can cross that item off your list if you call him back.”
In answer she only grinned. She was totally going to call him back. I could tell.
We trooped down a steep flight of steps and clustered in a low room built of gray stone bricks, like most of the castle. Ropes, rusting chains, and hooks hung from the walls and ceiling.
“Ladies and gents,” said our guide, his voice husky and creepy, “you are now in the dungeons!”
He began telling us of the many varieties of torture and execution performed on historical personages here.
In the midst of his speech, Amber swayed beside me, and clutched Laurence’s arm. The three of us dropped interest in our guide and pivoted to watch her.
She turned, her eyes glazed, taking in the whole room. Her gaze stopped at one corner. Sweat glistened on her forehead. I held my breath, my own stomach falling. The guide’s spiel rambled on in the background; I heard none of it.
Then her spell broke, and she laughed soundlessly, her face transformed back into its usual boldness and beauty. “I saw one!” She kept her voice low to avoid alarming the rest of the group, but jumped up and down in glee. “I saw one!”
The group moved onward. We strayed at the back in a small cluster.
“What did it look like?” Shannon sounded almost as excited as Amber.
“It was a guy--a man. Maybe early thirties. Skinny as a twig, hair and beard long, chains on his ankles--you know, typical guy who’s been in a dungeon forever.”
“Sure, we all know that guy,” I said. “What was he doing?”
“Kneeling in the corner. Praying.” Amber glanced back at the spot, a wry smile on her lips. “I’m guessing his prayer didn’t get answered.”
“I wonder if he saw us,” said Shannon.
“If so,” Laurence put in, “he’s probably thinking, ‘Damn it, I missed all the hot chicks by at least three hundred years.’”
Amber grinned. “More like six hundred. I had the impression he was medieval.”
“Wow,” I complimented. “Your first ghost in medieval clothes. We sure don’t get those in Oregon.”
“I know!” Amber caught Laurence’s arm again and hugged it. “Thanks for coming, you guys.” She bounced in the air several times more, and threw both arms around Laurence. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe I’m here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Yeah, all right, visionary girl.” He patted her on the back. “I’m happy to escort you to Europe anytime you want. No need to thank me.”
She tamed the soles of her sneakers back down to the ancient pavement, but continued beaming at him, us, and Scotland in general.
When Laurence drifted ahead to check out the view from an arrow-slit window, Amber accompanied him. Shannon and I glanced at each other. In her dusk-blue eyes I spotted suspicion and confusion, similar to that roaming inside my head.
“Was she thanking him specifically?” Shannon asked.
“Looked that way. And like he was ever the big supporter of her paranormal life. If anything, he’s the skeptical scientist guy, the one who reminds her she might just be a mental case.”
“Yeah. He was nice enough about it this time, but still...”
“What was she thanking him for?”
We followed the tour group back up the stairs and into a courtyard. I watched Amber and Laurence talking several paces away, Amber’s gold hoop earrings gleaming in the autumn sun, a nice match for the shining gold streaks in Laurence’s light auburn hair. Other than that they made a complete mismatch. Amber looked like a glam trendsetter, all faux leathers and glimmering accessories, while Laurence in his properly fitted jeans and tweedy blazer looked like an Oxford student.
“How’d she end up paying for her plane ticket again?” I asked Shannon.
Shannon slipped her sunglasses on, frowning. “I thought she and her mom worked something out. She was vague about it.”
“Huh. She let me believe it was some kind of loan through people at her job. Again, deeply vague.”
“You don’t think...”
I lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m betting Laurence fronted her the cash.”
“Really?” She tilted her head, considering it. “Well, he could afford it. He and his dad, I mean. Judging from their cars and computers.”
“And of course he’d be modest and embarrassed about it, and wouldn’t let her tell anyone, not even us.”
“So she’s grateful? That’s what the thanks were all about?”
“I’d put money on it,” I said. “If I had any, that is.” As I watched, Amber leaned her head on Laurence’s shoulder while they listened to the guide answer a question. Uneasiness, like a warning signal, sounded a bell in my stomach.
Again, Shannon rode the same wavelength as me. “Hmm,” she remarked. “She looks really grateful.”
“You don’t think she actually likes him, do you?”
“Maybe. Amber’s up for anything. Remember the party last New Year’s? She made out with Dean.” Shannon pronounced his name
with a cringe. Poor Dean; he had kinky hair like a poodle’s, perpetual forehead zits, and a habit of blinking twice as often as necessary. He had been Amber’s math tutor.
“She said she felt sorry for him,” I recalled. “And of course, those three wine coolers didn’t help.”
“We better make sure she doesn’t get drunk around Laurence.” Shannon sounded dubious.
I smirked. “I think he can handle himself. Anyway, she wouldn’t try it. I mean, we love the guy and all, but he is a definite PITA.”
Shannon looked at me quizzically.
“Pain In The Arse,” I translated.
A smile brightened her face. “Ooh, we’re in ‘arse’ territory now! I’d forgotten.”
“Yep. Use it or be square.”
“Well,” she said, “if we’re right about the plane ticket thing, then it just goes to show, no use trying to keep secrets from your friends. They find out before long.”
I mumbled in agreement, but the uneasiness in my stomach seized up into a cramp.
She gasped. “Oh--I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything about you and Gil.”
“No, I know.”
“It’s still nothing to tell, right?”
“Just a few daily texts. And, uh, supposed to meet for music shopping tomorrow. He likes looking around the retro vinyl stores sometimes, I guess.”
“That’s okay. See, he’s just a friend.”
A friend. Yes, that’s right. So why this queasy feeling that I was doing something wrong?
Chapter Eight: Attachment
Call me dense, but I honestly didn’t notice Laurence’s absence from our room until I got up the next morning. His bed was tidy and empty, his bags gone. But as I was preoccupied about getting to work on time, coming back to change, and then meeting Gil for our shopping trip, I didn’t devote much thought to Laurence.
While washing dishes and delivering hot drinks to tables at the Monteith Hotel, I did wonder where Laurence might have gone, but I didn’t worry. He was too predictable to do anything interesting like disappear.
And when I returned to the hostel, I had my answer. I found him sitting behind the front counter, leaning back in the rolling chair, talking on the phone with an arm folded behind his head. “Nope, absolutely not,” he said. “No morals here. We house males and females in the same room. Right. Bye-bye, then.” He hung up and said to me, “Poor Puritans. They have no place here.”
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Working. Did you miss me?”
“What do you mean, working?”
“They gave me a job,” he said. “I translated for another group of tourists the other day, and then helped evict a German crackhead who wouldn’t pay his rent. They pretty much begged me to work for them after that. I finally caved.”
“Here? You want to work here?”
He shrugged. “It solves my housing problem, considering I get to stay in a private room for free. They’re giving me the little room with the fireplace on the top floor.”
“Wait a second. We all agreed this was temporary. We were going to look for somewhere else to live, together. Remember?”
“You really want to live with me?”
“Not alone, no, but with Amber and Shannon as buffers maybe. And you’d share our rent. That was the point!”
“You three can still find somewhere. Probably easier, actually, finding lodging for three than for four.”
“Do they know? Amber and Shannon?”
“Yep. Told Amber yesterday, Shannon this morning.”
“And they don’t care?”
He shrugged. “They seem fine with it.”
Well, of course. Shannon was always fine with things, and Amber was infatuated with this dork.
“Great,” I said. “We still have to go out and actually find this magical place, while you’re settling into your own private room with a cozy fire.”
“Well...I’m technically not supposed to use the fireplace. But that’s just a suggestion, don’t you think?” He winked at me.
“You’re a brat.” I tromped up the stairs.
I changed into jeans, my blue Converse runners, and a striped sweater, then washed my face. The bathroom was sure to be freezing come November, especially as the sinks only ran cold water. However, today the chilly splashes revived my spirits.
Laurence didn’t matter. He was right; Amber and Shannon and I could still find our own place. And I was off to meet my very own Edinburgh laddie and rummage through some indie-British music shops. How awesome was that? I untangled my frizzy hair, tamed it into a loose bun, and trotted downstairs again.
“Where are we off to now?” asked Laurence as I passed the front desk.
“To stand on a street corner and leer at boys, just like you expect of me.”
“Super. I’ll have the disinfectant ready when you get back.”
“Twerp.”
I succeeded in having a great time with Gil throughout several shops and our dinner of burgers afterward. But as we strolled through the city that night, plastic shopping bags of CD’s dangling from our arms, he made the mistake of asking how my friends were doing.
I launched into a diatribe, bitching about Laurence’s attitude and his easy success, and how annoying it was that Amber seemed to be falling in love with him, which should not be allowed among a tight-knit group of friends. Gil absorbed it easily, walking in his long strides while I hustled along and panted with the effort of keeping up and delivering a soliloquy at the same time.
When I ran out of complaints, he answered, “Seems it’s difficult, the four of you being far from home. Drives you to do things you mightn’t otherwise. Like them two cozying up to each other, and you out here with a dangerous, strange person.”
I scoffed. “You’re not dangerous. I could take you down.” He was slender to the point of malnourishment; and, while taller than me, still didn’t top six feet.
“Could you now?” His eyes twinkled. “We’ll see about that.” He gave my elbow a playful shove, and I stumbled sideways. He skipped ahead backwards, grinning at me. Under his open purple jacket he wore a red patterned shirt.
Annoyed at the shove but wanting to laugh at the outfit, I rushed at him.
He bolted. I stuck to his heels. We dashed across streets, down narrow sidewalks, between tourists, over small dogs, and out into a grassy field somewhere near Holyrood Palace. It had probably been half a mile; we were gasping for breath. He turned to face me. I dove for his chest with my last burst of energy, and we plunged to the ground.
“See,” I wheezed, “I took you down.”
“Dowwwwn?”
“Yeah, down. How do you say it?”
“Doon.”
“Dooooon?”
“Smart-arse.”
I still lay on top of him, pinning him to the turf, catching my breath. I tried not to enjoy the warmth rising from his shirt, the feel of his ribcage expanding and contracting beneath me, the enticing smell of him.
He lifted one hand from the ground and examined it. “Och. Grass is wet.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Tough. Should’ve thought of that before provoking me.”
He smiled, his gaze holding mine. “Aye. I take it back. You’re quite dangerous.”
Stars and moon hung above us, the night wind blew chilly, the grass smelled fresh and damp. No one else was around.
I found myself picturing a kiss, vividly and immediately. Don’t you dare, said my sensible self, but that voice was far off inside my head, hard to hear amid the rushing tide of excitement.
“Ah, you’re all quiet.” Gil’s hand brushed my ear. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I shook my head. My, he was alluring, lying beneath me in the moonlight and the wind. His eyes shimmered in the blue dark. I settled down on his chest. “I ought to tell you something.”
“What’s that, then?”
“I’m an evil girl with ulterior motives.”
His hands settled onto my waist. “Hoping
to take advantage of me, were you, out here in the dark?”
“Hah. Well...when I decided to come on this trip, I did imagine meeting someone like you.” I was trembling, and not because it was cold. His hair, loose against the wet grass, gleamed in the moonlight. I longed to bury my nose in it, taste the side of his neck...
He maneuvered his fingers beneath my coat, threading them into the belt loops of my jeans. “And that’s your confession? You were out to nab a Scot, and you did so?”
“I guess. Wait--I did? I nabbed one?”
“Aye, silly tourist. You know that.” He squeezed me.
“Oh,” I began, intelligently.
But then he tugged me down and kissed me. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into the moment, paying dizzy attention to the movement of his mouth, the enveloping scent of his skin, the slight scrape of stubble on his upper lip. I felt I had been awarded an unexpected prize; I wanted to jump in the air and shout, “Victory!” As soon as I was done kissing him, of course. An hour or two from now, maybe.
I smiled as we pulled apart. “Very nice.”
“Yes. I’ve been hoping to try that.” He helped me to my feet, and brushed grass off my sleeve.
I busied myself with returning the favor, wiping off his back. The image of Tony, and what he would think to see me just now, had suddenly crashed in upon my joy, and I feared the terror might show on my face.
One week. I’d been here one week, and look what I’d already done!
“So,” I said. “Uh, now what?”
He turned, caught me around the waist in one arm, and steered us back toward the city lights. “You did mention that boyfriend.”
“Yeah.” My mood seesawed downward like an autumn leaf falling off a tree.
“And you said things might change while you were over here.”
“Well...true. I haven’t decided yet. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound unappreciative. I appreciated...that, back there. Really.”
“Nah, I understand. It’s all right.” We kept walking, arms around waists. After a few blocks he said, “I’m to assume you’re going back to him eventually, then.”
“Eventually, as you say. But only maybe.”
He looked at me, fine light eyebrows lifted curiously. “And?”
