by Anne Renwick
“Moray,” he said, wrapping his mind around the likelihood. “Aron Moray, your childhood friend, didn’t find your presence amidst the hyena fish at all surprising. He’s Finn, isn’t he? Why didn’t you say something?”
Isa looked away. “It was not my place to reveal his heritage. Men have been ostracized for less.”
They’d worked together for years and, try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything about Moray that struck him as unusual, save a disinclination to air travel and— “There’s no scarring between his fingers.”
Tap, tap, tap. A skeet pigeon’s beady eyes peered through the kitchen window. Isa stood and crossed the room to fetch the clockwork avian.
“Syndactyly is a highly variable trait,” she said, holding the bird in her hand. “And as I recall it, his webbing was slight, a minimal stretch between the third and fourth fingers of one hand.”
“Would he express factor Q?”
“Almost certainly, to manage the breathtaking rescue you’ve described.” She pried open the small canister and unfurled its contents. All color drained from her cheeks as her eyes scanned the message. “It’s from your brother.” She handed it to him. “What’s CEAP?”
Investigations of unofficial laboratory papers highly suggestive of CEAP, but not actionable. Gathering individuals to make pilgrimage to the castle. You remain an independent agent.
He clenched his jaw. In other words, Commodore Drummond and Lord Roideach were still loose. Queen’s agents were on alert, but had—as yet—nothing definitive. But his temporary commission remained in place, authorizing him to pursue the suspects. The hunt continued. “Your uncle spoke of a sea cave,” he said.
“The Isle of Lewis is riddled with them.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s impossible to search them all, even if we had a navy to assist.”
Click.
A key turned in the lock of the front door, and they both froze. Alec moved his hand to his hip, wrapping his fingers around the grip of his weapon. He waved Isa deeper into the kitchen, out of sight, while hurrying to position himself behind the staircase where he had a clear line of sight to the front door without making himself an easy target.
In walked a petite, brown-haired woman holding an infant. “Isa?” her voice trembled as she stepped tentatively into the dim hallway. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but we must speak. I bear terrible news.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
A BABY LET OUT AN air-splitting wail, and Isa rushed from the kitchen, past Alec and down the hallway to where her sister-in-law stood, shaking and clutching her youngest to her chest.
“What’s wrong?” Isa asked, laying a hand on Livli’s rigid arm.
“Isa,” Livli whispered, jiggling Isa’s nephew. Red-faced, he stuck his fist in his mouth and sucked in a sloppy breath. “There’s a large man behind you holding a gun.”
Isa turned about and frowned at Alec as he re-holstered his weapon. With his military bearing and his face devoid of all expression, he cut an intimidating figure. He nodded, politely acknowledging Livli’s benign presence, but didn’t step forward to force an introduction. Wise, given the hunted look in Livli’s eyes. Something was terribly wrong.
“I’m so sorry. My house was vandalized while I was away. He was taking precautions in the event they had returned.”
“Vandalized?” Livli’s eyes grew wide, but stayed fixed upon Alec. “No one in the neighborhood saw a thing!”
Which, considering the number of busybodies concentrated within their small neighborhood, spoke to the skill of those who’d entered. Not reassuring. She needed to send her sister-in-law away as quickly as possible. But not without first hearing what she’d come to say. With five young children in her household, Livli often looked drained. Today, she also looked distraught. Two dark circles pooled beneath her eyes as if she’d not slept in days.
“You’re scaring me,” Isa said, trying to redirect the conversation.
Her sister-in-law was a wonderful woman, but she lived a simple, traditional life. Which included a culture of gossip among the other wives. Tempting though it was to use that network to warn the Glasgow Finn about her uncle, she and Alec were already losing their ability to move about with stealth.
Livli blinked, then tore her eyes away from Alec and frowned. “Aron dropped off your houseboat, then disappeared without explanation, before we could catch him, as he’s wont to do these days. With your sister and Jona missing, we’ve been so worried.”
Drawing her next breath was a struggle. “Missing?”
“They were traveling here, to visit those of us who were unable to attend the wedding, but never arrived. Your brother went home to Lewis to help search. They found Nina yesterday.” Livli shook her head slightly. “It makes no sense, none at all, but your sister was found at Traigh Ghearadha. Sitting upon the sand, staring out to sea.”
Traigh Ghearadha. A beach north of Stornoway and not overly distant from a number of sea caves. Not missing. Taken. A band of iron wrapped about her chest and began to ratchet tighter.
“She’s injured and won’t speak.” Livli’s voice, though hushed, came out in an insistent rush. “Save one word: your name. Over and over. You need to go home. Now.”
“I’ll grab my gear.” Alec’s voice boomed from the end of the hallway. He turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
Livli’s eyes grew round. “That man,” she hissed. “You can’t mean to take him with you. Not to Stornoway. Already there are whispers, Isa. Your good name is being dragged across barnacles.”
Reminding herself that her sister-in-law only wanted the best for her, Isa tethered her irritation. “Tradition dictated my first marriage. We were miserable. There’s a reason I avoid your table, Livli. You I like. Not so much the matchmakers or strange men constantly pressed upon me. If I ever marry again, I will choose. Until that time, my affairs are my own.”
Torrid ones and all.
Livli gasped. At Isa’s proclamation or the man who now stood beside her, she couldn’t tell.
Alec’s rucksack was slung across his shoulder and he clasped the handle of her own bag in his hand. “I took the liberty of packing the notebook and a few skeet pigeons. I don’t believe there’s any reason to remain here.”
“None.” Save to paint a target on their backs. Better to face her family—her uncle—dead on. She lifted her chin. “To the docks.”
~~~
With his team away and his brother unable to throw him a bone, there was no chance of stopping a pair of madmen by remaining in Glasgow.
It was an awful situation, but Isa’s sister offered them the best—and only—lead they had to follow. The shreds of his career were flapping in the wind and the only way to earn a new sail was to locate Commodore Drummond’s sea cave, collect damning evidence and put an end to his macabre experiments.
Two individuals against a man with enough resources and willpower to build that megalodon, to devise a biomech octopus, to transform a simple amoeba into a creature that would eat away at the flesh of his own people. Isa’s uncle, though deranged, was a formidable foe with an as-yet undetermined goal.
Traveling to meet her family was as much about peeking into Finn psychology as it was locating a sea cave where they might—or might not—find answers. Isa was beautiful, intelligent and possessed of a steadfast loyalty to her people. Some would argue her mother must be of the same mindset, but he need look no further than his own family to know that sometimes the apple fell from the tree, rolled down a hill and sprouted in an entirely different environment.
If he was brutally honest with himself, he was also looking forward to meeting the rest of her family for entirely selfish reasons. Had he lost his mind? Possibly. His sister would call it love. Perhaps it was the same thing. Not that it mattered. They barely knew each other. He had no business contemplating a future with her. Not now.
With daylight fading fast, they navigated the River Clyde heading out into the Firth o
f Clyde. They wouldn’t reach Stornoway until dawn which left plenty of time for conversation.
For the last hour, Isa had stood, her back stiff and straight with worry, clutching the brass and wood steering wheel as she stared at the horizon. If willpower alone could hasten them to their destination, they’d already be past the Isle of Skye.
Enough brooding.
“Both my brothers are spies,” he said simply. That caught her attention.
She looked at him, the fine arches of her eyebrows lifting. “Secret agents? Ought you be telling me such things?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “It rather feels like we’ve moved past a superficial friendship as your intimate secrets have been laid bare.”
Her cheeks grew pink, and he let his gaze wander over her attire. Oh, yes, he’d definitely been thinking about their morning activities. Especially now. Upon boarding, she’d disappeared into her cabin and emerged looking rather like a pirate. Knee-high boots, bloomers, a lightly boned corset and a bolero jacket spoke to practicality and sailing upon choppy waters—even if a surfeit of ruffles fell from her elbows and cascaded down her backside from the short skirt she’d ruched to her hips. She’d even tied a bright red bandana about her hair. A cutlass would complete the picture with perfection, but the dive knife strapped to her thigh was also rousing.
Not the time. And what better way to tamp down his libido than to talk about his family? “My sister, Cait, has a certain talent with poisons, the more unusual, the better.” He tipped his head, contemplating possible outcomes of introducing them to each other. “I rather think you’d like her.”
“Poisons and spies.” The corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Have your parents any idea of the nest of vipers they spawned?”
“None.” He grinned back. “My father spends his life chasing business opportunities and women. He is successful at both, leaving little time for family life. My mother lives her life in denial.” He snorted a laugh. “She’s set upon marrying Cait to a gentleman. It would take a strong man to take a wife who wears a poison ring and has an inclination to use it. Even so, Cait has no interest in marriage and uses her dark complexion—clearly marking her as another man’s daughter—to keep suitors at bay.”
“Ah, that I know something about,” Isa said. “The flames of my hair forewarned all Finn men of my unsuitability. Go on. Tell me more about your brothers.”
“Your hair is beautiful. Their inability to appreciate it is their loss.” He paused, pleased to see a smile tug at her lips. “I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Quinn—eldest and heir—for months. All my other brother will tell me is that Quinn’s mission is classified. Logan, known in his circles as Mr. Black, planted me in Roideach’s laboratory. He’s on a hunt for members of CEAP, the Committee for the Exploration of Anthropomorphic Peculiarities, a group of dishonorable individuals set on studying humans with unusual traits or abilities.”
“Like selkies.” Her lips pressed together into a thin line. “There’s a certain irony to this situation. My uncle, the very kind of individual this committee seeks, infiltrating the membership of such a group before manipulating its knowledge and resources to his own objectives.”
Which brought them around to motivation. They were overlooking something important about the man’s psyche, and it likely had something to do with the Finn mindset. “Tell me about this community of yours.” Leaning against the helm, he pried one slender hand free from the spokes and pressed a kiss against her fingers.
“You’re wondering about the scars,” she said.
“Of course,” he answered, tracing a fingertip over the faint lines that marked the inside edges of her fingers. “But I’m also trying to entice you back into my arms.” He tugged on her hand.
Isa’s features softened, and she scanned the instrument panel affixed to the helm before her. She set in their course and flipped the lever enabling automated pilot. “Very well. Who can resist such an opportunity to unburden a childhood trauma upon such strong, broad shoulders?”
“I do believe that’s the first compliment you’ve paid me.” He led her to the railing. Turning her to face the setting sun, he wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her close, letting his fingers trace the brocade pattern of her bodice at her waist.
“A man of action wants words?” Teasing incredulity lifted her voice.
He laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, to the bandana that struggled to keep the copper threads of her hair bound, fighting against a salty wind that kept plucking free strand after strand. It was true. He much preferred waking to find her soft and warm upon his lap trailing appreciative fingertips over the contours of his body. She relaxed against him, and his groin stirred to life, but now was not the time.
“From what you tell me, the Finn people are proud of their heritage, if perhaps a bit rigid. Why, then, remove the webbing between fingers?”
“The same reason my mother would have me dye my hair brown. Marriage.” She sighed. “Every year introduces another technology that shrinks our world. There’s no avoiding interaction with Scots, particularly if a young man wishes to pursue a profitable trade in a town or city. Such progressive Finn don’t want to be labeled ‘other’, nor do they wish to marry a woman who would be shunned for such a deformity. The number of alterations I perform upon fingers is ever-increasing.”
“Toes?” he asked.
She turned in his arms, lifting a hand to push aside strands of wind-whipped hair. “And pointed ears.”
Alec touched a finger to its scarred surface and shook his head. “Pressured to dye your hair brown.”
“Ah,” she said, tapping his chest. “Because we are to marry Finn men, and they—and their relatives—know red hair means my bloodline is not pure.”
“Pure.” Society had a decided tendency to pass judgment on such nonsense. Witness his brother, half Gypsy, and his sister, half Indian. “It would seem your uncle subscribes to this notion both literally and figuratively.”
Isa rolled her eyes. “When we were small children, he would gather us all about the peat fire on cold winter nights and tell stories about how we, the Finn people, are descended from a magical Saami shaman who was able to shapeshift into the form of a seal.” A glimmer of a smile twitched at her lips. “His adventures beneath the waves were extensive. My favorite involved a sunken Viking ship and a treasure chest full of gold.”
“What child wouldn’t?” he agreed. “Is that the origin of the selkie myth?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Many believe the Finn people originated in Norway, arriving here via the Shetland and Orkney islands. Our language does share some similarity with those of the Sea Saami, but after so many centuries, who can say?” She winced. “The boat attacked by the megalodon?”
He nodded.
“Was filled with members of two Finn families spanning three generations. They were headed to the Shetland Islands with the intent to establish a fishing colony upon its shores where they could speak the old language and follow old traditions.”
Two Finn families, their lives shredded. Some killed, some kidnapped. All of it overseen and orchestrated by Commodore Drummond. Who was out for blood. Literally.
“What if your uncle was selectively choosing those Finn who express factor Q?”
Her jaw dropped. “He—or his minions—could screen by looking first for syndactyly. Later, they could perform a more conclusive blood test. But why would he want to drain the blood of those positive for factor Q?”
“I’m not certain,” he said. “Before this series of disasters rained down upon us, my brother brought me a curious piece of ceramic that was attached to a fragment of biomech octopus skin. It contained numerous tiny pores, as if it were designed as a filter. Until I saw two tentacles reaching for you, until I learned about factor Q, I was at a loss to guess at its function.”
“Blood. It’s filtering blood! Not simply extracting it.” She gasped. “Two tentacles. One to
extract the blood of a Finn, a ceramic filter, another tentacle to return the blood.”
Every brain cell buzzed with activity, drawing connections, synthesizing all evidence with what Isa had just told him. “Octopuses breathe under water by means of gills. Between the natural abilities of the Finn people, the unusual blood that runs in your arteries and veins, attaching a such biomech creature could enhance a Finn’s natural ability to dive beneath the water’s surface for an extended period of time.”
“And stay there indefinitely.” A hand flew to her throat. “What a ghastly idea.” She shuddered. “But it could work. Integrating the gills of a cephalopod and the abilities of a Finn. So horribly simple.”
“Yet complex,” Alec pointed out. “The skill, the engineering required to construct—grow—such a creature.” He shook his head. “It should be impossible, and yet—”
“All evidence points exactly to that particular goal.” She swallowed. “My uncle is utterly amoral. But after the way he’s treated me, I really ought not be surprised at all.”
“Your sister escaped,” he pointed out. “A woman was overlooked upon that ship bound for the Shetland Islands. Only men have washed up following an attempted tentacle attachment. The more information we gather, the more I begin to think Commodore Drummond is building some kind of unusual task force.”
“Aether,” she whispered. All color drained from her face.
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll speak to your sister and locate her husband.” For the first time in months, the weight on his chest lifted. The ugliness of the situation was not over, not by a long shot. But at least he could finally wrap his mind around the facts and begin to make plans. He patted a pocket sewn into his jacket. “I’ve an assortment of punch cards, and the minute we find this sea cave, we’ll call in reinforcements. Shutting down this kind of operation is the reason my teammates joined the Navy.”
