by Elle Jasper
“No, you don’t understand.” A woman I hadn’t noticed before moves closer to me. “There’s more to it,” she insists.
“Ms. Maspeth,” another big guy warns.
“I’m Sydney,” she says, looking at me with an almost desperate look. She’s blond, pretty, yet…harsh at the same time. Sort of like me, I guess. “Please.”
Then, she places her hand on my shoulder.
And the whole goddamn thing starts over again.
This time, though, it’s different.
I feel myself waver, as though I’m going to fall, but instead of falling straight onto the floor, I just keep falling, falling, until I suddenly stop. A faint light, starting as a pinpoint in the distance and growing larger as it moves toward me, makes my vision go from blurry to clear. When I blink, I’m still me. But I’m somewhere else. I feel…enclosed. Trapped. And I’m looking through eyes not my own…
Niddry’s in Old Town, Edinburgh, has always felt safe to me. Small, dark, and nondescript, it’s a pub very few tourists ever venture into. Low-lit alcoves line the ancient stone walls of the building, and Victorian-era lamps, emitting a soft glow, perch on tabletops. It allows me to blend in with the local working class of the city, drink a few pints, to feel somewhat normal for a short period of time.
It allows me, even for just a few moments, to forget.
The glass feels cool against my palms as I lift it to my mouth, and the dark lager slips smoothly down my throat. Draining the glass, I set it down on the chipped mahogany table and glance at the other Niddry’s patrons from my alcove. Most I recognize, like the three off-duty cops—two of them brothers— the owner of the chip shop just up the street, and a handful of students from the university. A cab driver—this one I recognize because I’ve used his service before—sits at the bar nursing his third whiskey. Two women who work at the Safeway up the street sit together at a table close to the bar, giggling and sharing some inside joke. Normal, everyday folk living their normal, everyday lives.
I stare down at my empty glass, at the impression my lips leave on the rim, and then out the window to the rain-dampened sidewalk. A streetlamp blinks and then turns on. It will be dark soon. The gray will become black.
And these people have no fucking clue what’s really out there…
“Another pint, miss?”
The bartender, Seth, stands there with a white cloth thrown over his shoulder, smiling. His grin is welcoming, friendly, the dimple in his left cheek giving him a boyish look. He wags his reddish brown brows and widens his smile.
I smile back. “One more, thanks.”
He gives a nod, makes his way back to the bar, retrieves another lager, and brings it back. “Here then, lass.”
As he makes his way back to his station behind the long, polished mahogany bar, I find myself thinking how lucky the guy is, how lucky they all are, to be so oblivious to what lies beyond the doors of the pub.
Sometimes, I wish I were oblivious, too.
Taking a long pull on the lager, I continue to stare through the window. Despite the cold October rain, passersby scurry up and down the sidewalk, their overcoats swishing around their legs, on their way home from work, probably, or headed to their favorite meeting place with friends to have a few drinks.
I remember similar carefree evenings, when I would meet with friends, or go to my parents’ house with my fiancé for dinner, or simply stop by the mall to shop for a new outfit. I never even thought for a second how my life could change so drastically. How I would never see my family again, rely on my mother’s comforting hug, fall into my fiancé’s easy embrace.
But that sounds selfish, doesn’t it? Selfish and childish. Me, me, me.
Strangely enough, I’m really not so bitter anymore. But in the beginning? When everything first happened? Jesus, I was a hateful bitch. I didn’t want to accept what had happened to me, or what I was to become.
What I am now.
With my fingertip, I wipe a streak through the moisture gathered on the glass, then I lift it up to drink. Over the rim I see one of the cops looking at me. He gives a smile and a brief nod. He’s cute, and there once was a time when I would have indulged in an innocent flirtation. Not anymore. So I meet his gaze for a moment, then look away, back to the outside. The constant drizzle is falling harder now. I think it rains every damn day here.
It’s been nearly a year since I came to Edinburgh. God, when I think of who I was before, such a short time ago, it nearly makes me laugh. I am so different now. Before, I was innocent, naïve. Sweet. Fun-loving. Carefree. I baked cakes, for Christ’s sake. I don’t bake anymore.
Not even a shadow of who I used to be is present now.
I drain my glass and wipe my mouth. It’s funny—I can sit here all night and drink as much as I want, and never get drunk. I can smoke two packs of cigarettes a day and I’ll never get cancer. I don’t gain weight, nor do I lose it. I don’t get wrinkles. My hair doesn’t grow. I can’t catch a cold, the flu, tuberculosis, Ebola—I’m immune to all of it.
Thanks to my destiny, I’m immune to death.
My fate is unchangeable. But mankind’s is—and it’s up to me to make it happen. So when I have moments of self-pity, like the one I’m having now, I slip over to Niddry’s and steal a few moments alone, before Gabriel, my mentor, seeks me out. I…reflect. I give myself a scant few moments to mourn my old life, to miss my mom and dad, my sisters, my granny and grandpa. It helps somewhat. Time, Gabriel says, will ease the pain.
I finally stopped crying over my fiancé. For some reason, his love was easier to let go of than it should have been. We were only two months shy of marriage, yet…I mourned him very little. I suppose that’s a good thing for me. I try not to dwell on that too much, though. I’ve come to realize that dwelling on the past serves absolutely no useful purpose anyway. I do what I have to do now so that my loved ones can survive. So everyone can survive. It’s up to me. Only me.
Well, me and the other four Druthans.
My vision blurs as I stare at the lamppost outside, and at the torrent of rain pouring down. A few more minutes and then I’ll go. Until then, I’ll catch you up to speed on things, to where my life is now. Maybe, you’ll understand.
I’ll spare you a long, boring history of me before Scotland. Suffice it to say I was your average American girl. I was born twenty-five years ago to James and Lucinda Maspeth. They named me Sydney Jane, after my mom’s grandparents. I grew up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. I went to UNC, graduated with a B.S. in education, and started teaching first grade in Kitty Hawk. I frequented the spa. I got my nails done every other week.
All that changed one May afternoon when Gabriel—an imposing wall of sheer muscle clothed in head-to-toe black—walked easily into my empty classroom, right up to the desk where I sat grading papers, pulled me out of my chair, looked me dead in the eye, and with a sincere apology, slipped a silver blade into my heart.
I died in his arms.
I awakened sometime later—weeks later, actually—in his bed. He sat in a dark alcove, watching me with those silvery eyes. I’ll never forget that first brooding, profound stare. To me it sums up his entire character. Silent power barely checked.
In a matter-of-fact tone, and with a mesmerizing accent, he told me my old life was gone, and that I was now immortal, like him. He told me to rest, that I was still going through the transformation and was very weak. Then he stood, tossed a newspaper on the bed beside me, and left the room without another word.
One thing I learned pretty fast about Gabriel—he speaks very little, but when he does, it’s potent.
The newspaper proved to be one from back home in Kitty Hawk. It was the Obituary page, and as I thumbed through it I found my own smiling face staring back at me.
Fishing a few pounds from the pocket above my knee, I put down a tip, nod to Seth who smiles in return, and make my way through the small crowd. The rain is only a drizzle now, and Gabriel is probably waiting for me. At the doorway, I sli
p my arms into my black trench coat, button it up, and put on a black skully and scarf. Funny. I go from sandals, French manicures, and flowery sundresses to black fatigues, boots, and a trench coat. I look like goddamn Mission: Impossible. My sisters would die laughing.
My granny would wash my mouth out with soap.
I’d give anything to let her.
I step out into the cool night air and start down the sidewalk, and before I can walk ten feet, someone behind me grabs my arm.
“Just a minute, miss.”
I turn to find the cute cop. He’s medium height and build, with dark, close-clipped hair and wide blue eyes. He gives me a crooked grin. “Sorry. I, uh, well, was wonderin’ if you, ya know?” He glances at his feet and mutters, “Shite.” He looks me in the eye and smiles again. “I tried to get your attention back there.” He inclines his head toward Niddry’s. “I’m Sean. I, eh, don’t mean to sound so forward, but I noticed”—he gathered courage and met my gaze fully—“well you looked nice to talk to, is all.”
I meet his wide blue eyes with my own stare. I never can quite get over how charming the Scottish accent is. Even now, it sucks me right in. Sean’s is a bit thicker than the Edinburgh burr. Glasgow, maybe? Nice.
In another life, I would be grinning like a fool and batting my eyelashes. Sean’s a good-looking guy, confident, charming. And blessedly ordinary. But I’m no ordinary girl.
Sean can’t handle me.
But instead of blowing him off, I stick out my hand. I can’t date him, but a friendly face every now and then in Niddry’s can’t hurt. I smile. “Sydney, and it’s nice to meet you.”
He smiles and shakes my hand. “Och, an American.” He nods toward Niddry’s. “Do you care to step back in? I would have come up to you earlier, but I’m a wee bit shy—”
Powerful fingers close around my arm and I immediately know who is there. Sean’s gaze rises above my head, directly behind me.
“She’s with me,” Gabriel’s deep voice vibrates above me.
Sean glances at me, almost as if looking for an approval of the possessive grasp the newcomer has on me. I give him a slight smile, he shrugs, and returns the smile. Defeat dims his blue gaze. “Right. See ya then, Sydney.” He turns and walks back to Niddry’s.
Gabriel turns me around, pulls me close and lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re late.” The words brush against my ear and I shiver. He has that ability—to unhinge me—but I’ll never let him know it.
With deft fingers he opens my trench coat and eases my blade from his to my hip. Those mercury eyes never leave mine as he fastens the small scabbard holding the Druthan silver to the loops on my pants and closes my coat. “Let’s go.”
He turns and heads up the sidewalk, and I’m right behind him. Gabriel’s posture is guarded, although no one notices but me. I’ve spent nearly an entire year in his daily company. I know his gestures, his habits, and I know when he is on high alert, when his body is on edge. Like now.
We wind our way through the streets of Old Town. The castle is lit and stands formidable on the rock it was built on. During my training, when I was learning every street, every close, every pub, club, business, and landmark, the castle stood as a focal point, a guide, a beacon. It still does.
And I now know the streets of Edinburgh like the back of my hand.
The Druthan blade brushes against my thigh with each step, and I button just the top of my coat, leaving the last two undone. If I need to withdraw my weapon, it has to be fast. I have to be ready. Always ready…
We’re on the outskirts of Old Town now, and Gabriel takes a turn left and eases down a set of cracked stone steps, between the tight-knit quarters of Pippin’s Close. It’s cold, gray, and deserted. Not derelict, just empty. No one lives here now.
No one, except the dead.
I fight a smile as I walk behind Gabriel’s big self. He takes up every inch of the close, and has to turn slightly sideways to fit properly. I know that irritates him, too. It makes him feel vulnerable, as if he can’t protect me fully, if the need arises. But only I know that.
I hug the wall and continue to follow, through the narrow close and down one more set of steps before coming to a lone door. The thump of a nearby nightclub vibrates on the air, and laughter rings out. But that’s coming from several streets over. No one knows I’m here except Gabriel. And no one knows what is about to happen except us. Briefly, I think of Sean, that cute cop from Niddry’s. I can’t help but wonder what he’d think if he knew.
Gabriel stops just before the door and looks down at me with that ever-present profound stare. His long hair, nearly black, is pulled back at the nape of his neck and damp from rain. A long strand is caught on his cheek, but he ignores it. The light from a streetlamp finds an opening through the close and falls on part of his face, casting the other part in shadow. He is magnificent and immortal, lethal, and so sexually charged that the air hums with it.
No, I’m not used to it yet. Even after a year, I have to check myself. But those are the mannerisms of a Druthan warrior, and it has nothing to do with him being a man and me a woman. He cares for me only because of what I am. He is from a secret sect of ancient Pict druids. There are only three others besides Gabriel.
And they’re nearly five hundred years old.
So when I say Gabriel is looking at me with an ancient gleam in his eyes, I really mean it.
His dark brows pull together into a frown. “Finished?”
I shrug. Yeah, he can read thoughts. He doesn’t stay in my head twenty-four/seven, but when he thinks I’m straying from task, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. Anything to keep me safe. I suppose I should appreciate that. “Yes. Let’s go.”
I don’t even have to ask what’s going on. Standing here, beneath the eave of Pippin’s Close and by the door of an empty flat, with rain spitting and sputtering against my already damp cheeks, and the cold October air freezing my skin, I know. And if I hadn’t known, the nauseating stench from behind the door would be all the warning I’d need.
One of them is in there. And it’s feeding.
I slide in front of Gabriel and press my back to his front, and his body goes rigid, still, with just the smallest movement of lung expansion as he breathes. Goddamn, it’s hard to concentrate in such an intimate position—
“Steady, lass,” he whispers against my ear.
As if that helps the situation.
“I willna be far behind. Now go,” he commands.
I take a deep breath, withdraw my sword, and I go.
The door is slightly ajar, so I place my fingertips to the wood and push a space big enough for Gabriel and me to fit through, and I slip inside the dark interior. A tinge of must mingles with the foul smell and nearly makes me gag, but I swallow several times to fight off the urge.
Reaching into my thigh pocket, I withdraw a small torch. I can hear the familiar gurgling noise, coming from another room near the back, so I feel pretty sure nothing is right before me. My heart slams against my ribs as I sweep the beam of light across the bare floor.
It falls across a woman’s shoe.
Jesus Christ.
As I move toward the back, I feel somewhat comforted that Gabriel is right behind me. Knowing he is there won’t erase from memory what I’m about to witness. That vivid scene, along with the odor, will stay forever emblazoned in my mind.
My fingers tighten around the sword hilt, and my body tenses as I prepare. I ease toward what I’m pretty sure is the kitchen. The chewing and gurgling sounds grow louder, more intense.
And then, it stops. Silence.
It knows I’m here.
I wait, because I have to have it in full view before I make a move. One wrong step and it’s my shoe on the floor.
In the next breath, it leaps, landing just a few feet away. It doesn’t see me yet, but I’m pretty sure it can smell me. I can definitely smell it. Vile. There’s no other word for it.
With the torch off, the room is once again cast into darkness. I can
judge where it is, though, and I can hear it, allowing to my vision almost a full outline of its body. Amazing, the senses that have heightened since my death—
A cold, wet hand closes over my throat, pinching off my air. Its body is close to me now, too close to poke my blade into, too close to punch. So I pull back my leg and shove my knee into its groin, I do it once more, and it finally howls, turns my throat loose, and stumbles back.
A powerful swoosh slices through the air, followed by a heavy thump. Something bumps the toe of my boot.
“Torch on, Ms. Maspeth,” Gabriel says directly over my shoulder. “Now.”
Immediately, I flip on my torch and point it down.
The head of a Jodis lies at my feet, a nasty, white ooze spilling from its neck cavity.
Gabriel pushes past me and steps over the Jodis’s body, which is still twitching. He stops at the kitchen, looks in, and crosses himself, and in ancient Pict, gives what once was an innocent woman her last rites.
I know the verse by heart now. I’ve heard it scores of times over the last year.
With God, find peace hereafter.
I can do little but breathe. I feel my knees weaken and I stumble back, rest my head against the wall and swear.
Gabriel holds my chin and lifts it up. I squeeze my eyes shut, out of embarrassment and to hold in the goddamn tears. Even after a year of training, the monster beats me.
“Open your eyes, Ms. Maspeth,” he says quietly. “We have bodies to dispose of.”
“Riley? Wake up.”
I feel a tight grasp around my shoulder. I’m being shaken. I toss my head a few times, blink, and glance around. I’m back in Castle Arcos. Everyone is staring at me. Sydney Maspeth is standing a foot away. All eyes are on me.
“What the hell is this?” I say, and back away from them. “Don’t fucking touch me again. Any of you.” I sling my arms as though shaking off water. “Damn it!” I try to clear my head. All I see is Edinburgh, Scotland. That apartment. Sydney. That…thing.
