Caledonia

by Amy Hoff

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Leah said. “Sebastian is at it again.”

  Dorian nodded. He looked down at the water.

  “Many years ago,” said Dorian, “when Magnus and I were just pups, we swam in the shallows of Seal-Hame. Magnus always helped me when I wasn't quick enough to catch a fish, or when there were humans nearby.

  'One day, we were basking on the beach near Kintyre. It was a long white stretch of sand. There are many places there to bask and sun ourselves, large rocks scattered across the beach. I remember the day. The sea was so blue, and the islands in the distance grey on the water. We were sunning ourselves when a human crept up behind us with a rock, intending to take my pelt – which we shy away from at the best of times. If a human steals our pelts, they can enslave us.”

  Leah nodded. She knew the lore.

  “He would have dashed my brains out. He was a seal-hunter. The hunter did not know we were selk, although this was a strange thing, since during those times, most humans considered it a dangerous business to kill the seals, fearful of provoking the wrath of the Fae. There are those of us who are not selk, of course...or so I have been told. Thus far, every grey seal I have met has turned out to be a selkie.

  'I did not sense the man approaching. My skills were not as honed then as they are now, and Magnus had spent far more time among the humans than I had. He came out of his skin so quickly I could hear the rending of it. It must have caused him considerable pain. Roaring, he appeared as if by magic, a tall and beautiful young man with the rage and fear of his brother's murder in his great dark eyes.”

  Dorian gestured idly at the water with a bare hand, and a tiny whirlpool formed beneath it.

  “The man fell to his knees, begging forgiveness,” said Dorian. “For some reason, my brother stayed his hand. The man took to his heels, ran away, and, I am sure, never tried to hurt another seal again.”

  Dorian stared into the water, beyond his reflection there.

  There was a strange, low, keening sound.

  Leah looked over her shoulder, at the people walking past, at the trees, and then slowly realised the sound was coming from Dorian. Sure enough, the keening noise came again. It was unearthly, unsettling, and heartbreaking to hear.

  “Dorian,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  “Singing,” he said. “Haven’t you ever heard seals sing?”

  Leah thought back to the few times she had been on the coast and could not remember.

  “Seals…sing rarely,” he said. “To tell each other stories, or…for great love, to coo at your lover, or for great loss.”

  The strange keening came again, building in that inhuman voice, an ethereal song of grief and loss that brought Leah near tears, though she did not understand a word of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aonghas walked with Dylan and Tearlach as they talked about the world and how it had changed since Tearlach's time. They left the People’s Palace laughing. It began to rain. Dylan's wings appeared with the sound of rushing wind, and he sheltered Tearlach beneath them.

  “Let's get ice cream, what d’you think?” said Dylan.

  “That sounds wonderful,” said Tearlach, “What is it?”

  Dylan grinned.

  “You'll see!” he said. “There are so many more flavours than when I was a bairn, you cannae imagine the difference...”

  Aonghas walked behind them, silent. The Trooping Faerie sighed. He knew what he had to do, and that Dylan wouldn't like it.

  “Dylan,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  Dylan gave him an aggrieved look, but they stopped on the street. Aonghas nodded to Tearlach, who went to look at the window display of a charity shop with all the interest of someone who had never seen modern clothing before.

  “Wit d’you want noo?” Dylan asked.

  “He can’t stay, Dylan,” said Aonghas. “He's not meant to be here.”

  Dylan considered this, feeling the air around him.

  “Aye,” Dylan agreed. “Wit d’you want me t’dae about it?”

  “You need to open a rift in time. You're powerful enough. I’ll have to help you, but…Tearlach needs to go home.”

  Dylan gazed at his new friend, currently occupied with staring bemusedly at a PVC corset.

  The angel looked at Aonghas in rebellion.

  “Nae!” he said. “I wi’nae. I can tak’ care o’ him – if I sen’ him back he’ll be killed in some war, an’ he’s only jist twenty.”

  “I know,” said Aonghas. “I know it's difficult, but it’s not right to keep him here. He doesn’t belong.”

  Dylan looked at Tearlach again, and his heart warmed as he watched the man who was obviously a warrior in his own time, filled with childlike wonder in this strange new world.

  Dylan’s mouth set. Tearlach should be a hero, in a time and place that would honour his name. Here among the disused beer cans and twisted metal broken alleyways of what Dylan could offer him, a life easily forgotten, living off the £5 specials and sometimes splashing out on the weekends for the fancy £10 gourmet M&S meals with a bottle of wine…Dylan halted this line of thought before it depressed the hell out of him.

  He had nothing to offer Tearlach but the shelter of his wings.

  “I suppose yir right,” sighed Dylan, resigned. “How?”

  Aonghas motioned with his head, and Dylan followed.

  He watched as Aonghas lifted a hand, and turned the earth, Glasgow fading out and green fading in, green and blue emerging from the city, as though Aonghas had turned the handle of a door. The Trooping Faerie looked at him, and suddenly Dylan could see Aonghas as he truly was: the power radiating from him, the warmth and the heat, intense beauty alight within him, staring out through foreign eyes.

  Dylan winced, and looked away.

  “Now, Dylan!” said Aonghas. “Before it's too late!”

  Dylan grabbed Tearlach by the arm and his friend, startled, followed him. Aonghas stepped forward with them, and the world turned inside out.

  A moment later, they were all standing next to an enormous tree in the midst of a field dotted with sheep. The sun was shining gloriously on gently rolling hills, and reflected in the ripples of the loch below. The land was hemmed in by mountains and ringed with white clouds. It was midsummer, and the freshness of the air, the scent of broom and heather, made Dylan's eyes water. Aonghas smiled. This was a time in which he had been both loved and feared.

  Tearlach stared around himself in wonder. He seemed to breathe everything in, the flowers and the grass. He turned around slowly, taking in the bright green forest and hills, the blue of the sky, the quiet sounds of the earth. His eyes went wide.

  “I’m home! Well done, Dylan!” he cried, and then broke into a grin. “And there’s my cow!”

  He turned to look at his friend. His expression softened.

  “You're welcome to stay,” he said. “You would make a fine warrior, and my hearth will always have a place for you beside it.”

  Dylan looked at Aonghas, who shook his head.

  “Believe me,” said the Trooping Faerie. “I would stay myself, if I could. Those ripples you sensed in the future are nothing compared to what you would do if you remained in the past. Say your goodbyes. I will be on the lookout. You don't have much time.”

  And with that, Aonghas left them to say farewell in private.

  Tearlach sighed.

  “It seems we were fated to meet this just once,” he said. “I will not forget you, Dylan Stuart.”

  Dylan stared up at the baby blue sky, into the cool white sunlight of the Highlands.

  “I wi’nae greet,” murmured Dylan, almost to himself. “I wi’nae.”

  He made a snuffling noise, and Tearlach suddenly threw himself into his friend's arms.

  “Thank you for everything, Dylan,” said Tearlach. “You are a true friend.”

  After a moment, he returned the embrace, his eyes shut against the treacherous tears he knew would come.

  “Yo
u remember tae write,” Dylan said. He reluctantly let go.

  “I will learn how just for you,” said Tearlach, holding him at arm’s length. “Please feel free to visit anytime. What stories I’ll have to tell!”

  He began to walk away, across the beautiful green field.

  “They wi’nae believe you,” said Dylan, shaking his head.

  At this, Tearlach turned around. Dylan looked at him, a Highland warrior framed in the strength of the mountains, with the grass and the loch rolling out behind him, the sun making a halo of his long, flowing hair. Tearlach grinned at his friend.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “People in my time still believe in faeries.”

  He raised a hand in farewell, and Dylan smiled, the tears flowing now. He raised his own hand in reply, and watched his new friend walk out of his life and into history.

  Aonghas ran up to Dylan, out of breath.

  “Dylan, we need to go,” he said. “There isn’t much time.”

  Dylan sighed, and watched Tearlach walk off across the field, green and shining in the late afternoon sun. He sniffed loudly. Putting his hand inside the pocket of his hoodie, he touched something cold. He withdrew the can of Irn-Bru he had taken from Tearlach, and solemnly cracked it open.

  “Fareweel, noble soul,” he said, toasting his friend as he took a sip. “The best man I have known.”

  He poured out the remainder of the can, soaking the green earth, and then knelt down and set it at the base of the tree.

  He nodded at Aonghas.

  “Right,” he said. “Glesga’s waitin’.”

  They walked forward together. The world turned inside-out, and they were standing in the street again.

  Dylan took a deep breath, and looked around at the modern city. He shook his head at how sudden endings could be.

  Aonghas turned to Dylan, and awkwardly tried to put a comforting arm around his shoulder.

  “I’m awrigh’. I’m awrigh’!” cried Dylan, throwing him off. “Get aff me, you great faerie.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The call had come in late that evening. Another corpse. It had been a miserable business, the neighbours alerting them to the fact that the door to 2A hadn't opened in a few weeks, and that there was a disturbing smell coming from the flat. They had had to break in and the door had to be pushed open past all the mail that had piled up on the floor. While forcing open the door, they had seen a pair of legs on the tiles, halfway out of the bathroom. It seemed that this one had been there a long time.

  “Another Fae,” murmured Dorian. “How is Sebastian doing this? It’s like they just lay down and die.”

  “No blood, no struggle,” agreed Leah. “There are no markings of any kind.”

  “What do you think, Chief?” asked Dorian, looking up.

  “If Aonghas is right, and Sebastian has confessed to these murders,” said the chief, “it stands to reason that it’s time to talk to Magnus about what happened to Hazel.”

  “We’re only going on a theory, that it was Sebastian back then,” said Dorian. “His activities only became clear several years after her death, and we assumed he had something to do with it because of his prominence in the criminal world.”

  “Yes, but criminals don’t become the heads of a crime syndicate overnight,” said Leah, “so he could have been active before that.”

  “Perhaps,” said Dorian, “but Aonghas is right. Murder was never part of Sebastian’s repertoire. There is often a modicum of violence when a criminal like him becomes powerful, but as far as we are aware, his takeover was far more corporate than bloody. Part of the mystery of Sebastian is how he has been able to influence people, including the Fae, for so long without any kind of violent intervention, as far as we know.”

  “From what Aonghas says, it sounds to me like it’s primarily a large network of favours,” said Leah. “It’s amazing how heavily some things can weigh on the mind and spirit, even for the Fae. In fact, the Fae might feel it even more keenly, given that their lifespans are so much greater than those of humans. It’s still possible that Sebastian had a hand in what happened to the lovers of the Taken selk so long ago.”

  “Perhaps we were wrong in shielding Magnus from Sebastian, Dorian,” Chief Ben said, in a voice that came from the depths of the earth.

  Dorian nodded.

  “I will explain everything to him,” said the selkie. “He is my brother.”

  The door opened and Magnus stepped inside. Leah could see a strange light around him, his skin giving off a slow golden luminescence, what Dorian had called moonlight. She gasped inwardly when she realised this must have been what Tearlach was talking about – and she could see it too. The ethereal golden glow, smudging the barest edges of his face as he moved in poetry. That soft smile, the merriment in his eyes, the edges turned up as they crinkled slightly. God, he was beautiful. Leah would always remember how he looked, framed in the doorway, the moment before Dorian spoke.

  Magnus had not moved a muscle as Dorian explained, but Leah saw the glow dim, as though filling with tears. Dorian’s corresponding silvery glow was almost nonexistent. Dorian's eyes remained fastened on his brother's.

  “We wanted to protect you,” Dorian finished. “I am sorry, Magnus. I did what I thought was best, but now...”

  Magnus’ head sunk slowly to his chest. He was silent for a very long time. He looked up. Leah was shocked by the ice blue colour of his eyes, pale as water, lightning-struck.

  “I know, brother,” he said. “You are forgiven.”

  He turned on his heel and left the flat. The three of them stood quietly together, unsure of what to say.

  The door opened again, as Milo arrived with Geoffrey and the rest of the forensics team. Geoffrey nodded to Leah and blushed as he passed them. Leah smiled tightly and then returned her attention to the conversation.

  “Magnus took that pretty well,” she said. Dorian had been speaking in a low whisper to the chief, and she was surprised when she finally caught the words.

  “What are we going to do?” he was asking. “We knew this might happen.”

  “What? Have I missed something again?” Leah asked.

  “His eyes. You must have seen them,” said Chief Ben.

  “Yes?” she said, puzzled.

  “His eyes are brown, like all the selk,” said Dorian.

  “They’re blue or grey –”

  “No,” said Dorian. “They are brown. That ice blue colour is the warning of the gathering storm. It also means that the selk know – all of them, all over the world. We have to find Sebastian before they do. They are coming for him. And they are angry.”

  “How are we going to find Sebastian?” Leah asked, but Dorian was already out the door.

  Leah ran down the stairs and flung the door open, where she nearly ran into the selkie, standing very still on the pavement outside.

  Plastered all over the buildings, the lampposts, and the subway entrance, was graffiti that read SEBASTIAN.

  “Who did this?” Leah asked. “There was hardly any time! We only went inside twenty minutes ago!”

  “Someone must have seen us together at Desdemona’s club,” he said. “That's the only time we were speaking of him. Someone else could have heard.”

  “There's no guarantee of that! Desdemona said she didn't know anything,” said Leah.

  “She's baobhan sith, Leah,” said Dorian. “She hates me. She has every reason to lie. Every reason.”

  “You are going to have to tell me that story someday,” said Leah.

  “Someday,” agreed Dorian. “Come on. Sebastian or one of his people might still be at Desdemona’s.”

  “They’ll be long gone by now, if they’re smart,” she said.

  “For the sake of the world, let’s hope they’re not,” said Dorian, and he ran up Buchanan Street with Leah close behind him.

  ***

  Dorian and Leah burst into the warm, candlelit darkness of the restaurant. A crowd of unsavoury characters sat in th
e shadows watching the performance, while the regular customers sat at the good tables. The baobhan sith finished her set to appreciative applause. Another dancer took to the stage and Desdemona noticed the detectives standing in the doorway. She gestured towards the back of the restaurant, and they met her there.

  “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in? What kind of danger you've put me in?”

  “Shut up or I’ll stake you,” Leah said. “Sebastian or one of his people was here when we visited. Tell us what’s going on or I will introduce you to a crucifix.”

  Desdemona stared down at this tiny defiant human woman. The vampire sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.

  “Look, I can’t tell you much,” she said. “He could kill me, too.”

  “We’ll protect you,” Leah promised.

  Desdemona just laughed, her green eyes blazing bright.

  “From Sebastian?” she said. “I think I’ll take my chances. News of your rude interruption will reach him quickly – you really ought to be more circumspect, officers.”

  “You must tell us,” said Dorian. “Magnus knows that Sebastian killed Hazel. The selk are on the march.”

  Desdemona stared at him.

  “You’re kidding,” she said. “Why would Sebastian want to destroy the world? Everyone knows the selk are powerful, and like nuclear weaponry, probably best left undisturbed – the selk will decimate anyone and anything in their path.”

  “I think that is an unfortunate consequence, rather than Sebastian’s motivation,” said Dorian. “But the selk will tear the world apart to find him. We need to find him first.”

  “And then what?” she asked. “The only thing you can do is sacrifice him to the selk. Your people are as ancient as mine and Scottish blood runs strong with the thirst for sacrifice. You know that as well as I do. The selk, harmless lovers. Ha! That’s rich. We’re the ones who get the bad press. Bite, drink, a human lost here and there. We’re solitary hunters and we don’t take more than we need. Your people get all the beautiful songs and you’re the ones capable of destroying the world.”