A Very Alpha Christmas

by Anthology

  The centuries had turned his grief into a hollow pit inside his soul. A constant ache radiated from there, and time had not lessened his love or the depth of his loss. It had, however, lessened his hope. It was his family that kept him going. His nephews, representatives of the sons he would never have. His brothers and sisters, pains-in-the-arses who didn’t let him disappear into a magickal vortex. Malina, the niece he’d promised to watch over.

  “What are ya doing?” Euann whispered.

  Fergus frowned. The answer should have been obvious. He was doing the same thing he’d done every day, every night, for over four hundred years. He was going to call his Elspeth to him. Someday, her soul would hear him. Someday, he’d find his answer. Someday, he would be with her again. He had to believe it because he had nothing else to believe.

  Whatever is beyond, find me again.

  He’d promised her.

  Euann glanced down to the bag carrying the latest of Fergus’s magickal concoctions as if answering his own question.

  “Euann, why are ya trying to block your uncle from leaving?” Angus appeared carrying a giant roasted turkey leg. He pointed it at his son. “Stop playing around and pack a bag. You’re going to New York to check our assets there.”

  “Why me?” Euann dropped his arms.

  “Ya wanted to start the tech-whatever company,” Angus said. “Their robots are sick, and they gave the workers a hacking cough. I will not be responsible for the end of mankind because ya want to play with—”

  “Sick?” Euann frowned for a moment. “Hackers gave us a virus?”

  “Isn’t that what I said?” Angus took a bite of the turkey leg. “Go and make sure everyone in the office has medical care.”

  “Computer virus,” Euann stated.

  “And shut down the cyborg army,” Angus ordered. “If we want to end mankind, we’ll use magick like respectable warlocks.”

  “I’ve told ya, they are not those kinds of robots. They are prototypes. We are designing medical equipment for third-world countries, and trying to develop lifelike cadavers for—” Euann attempted to explain.

  “Hey, where’d that come from?” Rory interrupted, nodding at the turkey leg.

  They all knew what the medical research lab was working on, but it was entertaining to frustrate Euann. At their age, they took their fun where they could get it.

  “Malina is materializing food with Jane out of a Renaissance Faire catalog,” Angus stated. “I’ll tell ya lads one thing is certain. Dinner is much better now that we have Iain’s little battery.”

  Angus referred to his nephew’s new wife, Jane. She was a natural power source for their magick. Magick had to come from some place. That kind of energy didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Although sex would work for a power surge, it wasn’t a steady source. Typically, they borrowed energy from the environment. It was why they had moved to Wisconsin. Green Vallis was a strong place filled with nature. However, since Jane was half bean nighe, she acted like a power conduit, which kept them from killing trees, and enabled them to replenish nature.

  “Belladonna comes. Hold down the fort, Euann, we’re counting on ya to protect us all.” Rory smirked and hurried into the dining room.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. Angus again motioned for his son to get out of the way and moved as if he would open the door. Euann shook his head in denial and refused to leave his post.

  The knock sounded again.

  Angus zapped a little stream of magick at his son, shocking him just enough in the hip to get him to jump aside.

  “Ow!” Euann protested. He returned fire, shooting a tiny stream of magick at his father. Angus laughed and darted from the room, still carrying the turkey leg.

  Fergus sighed, curious to see the creature at the door.

  “Uncle Fergus, no,” Euann warned. “Do not let her in.”

  Drawing his hand behind him, he let a concentrated ball of magick equip his palm. His body tensed as he reached for the doorknob.

  “It’s your funeral,” Euann said before running from the room.

  Fergus wasn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t the lovely woman holding a basket. He glanced behind her, confused. No zombie army. No hoard of bees. No legion of stray cats. Just a hillside covered with snow.

  “Hi, neighbor.” Her bubbly voice was incredibly pleasant. The sound took him by surprise. As did her smile. She looked nothing like his Elspeth, except for the line of her jaw. A lot of women had that jaw. He’d seen it numerous times over the years as he’d looked for pieces of Elspeth in every woman he came across. And each time he wanted to touch whatever piece of her resemblance he thought he’d found, just to see he if could feel his wife again. He refrained, not touching the visitor.

  The jaw is where the similarities ended. The basket-wielding threat in front of him had dark auburn hair, not brown sun-streaked with blonde. Aye, hair could be dyed, but eyes could not. Her eyes were dark brown, not green. Plus, she was shorter and not willowy. No Elspeth here. Again. Even if his wife came back as someone else, he’d sense his magick inside her radiating back at him. He would know her soul. Of that, he was certain. Elspeth was his heart. He would know her when he saw her.

  Fergus slowly squished the energy ball and drew his empty hand from behind his back. The cold winter air circled his naked legs beneath the kilt, but it didn’t bother him. Behind him, the house stayed warm, the invisible barrier not letting the cold air in even as he held the physical door open. He again glanced over the expansive front lawn and long cobblestone driveway, trying to see why Euann had run. He sensed nothing in the outbuildings, nothing in the woods beyond the curve of the hill.

  “I, ah, wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood,” the woman said. She lifted the basket. “I hope your family is settling in nicely.”

  Fergus turned his gaze back to her. They had been in the neighborhood for months. It seemed a little late to have a welcoming committee stop by, and she was hardly the first to show up at their doorstep. Many of the townspeople were curious about the new Scottish clan living in the mansion on the hill overlooking Green Vallis.

  Knitted gloves matched the woman’s scarf and hat. Pink tinted her cheeks. She had nice eyes and an open smile. He found himself studying her face, wondering at the mystery behind her. How could she possibly be a threat? She seemed so genuine and kind. And lovely. Very, very lovely to look at.

  A siren, perhaps? Fergus inhaled deeply. No, they were too far from Greek waters, and she didn’t smell of saltwater and fish.

  “Are those bagpipes I hear?” she asked, leaning to glance inside the home.

  Fergus didn’t hear anything. He gave a small shake of his head.

  “Oh.” She gestured the basket toward him. “So, ah, welcome?”

  Slightly confused, he lifted the cloth napkin to look inside. Her smile widened, and he found himself reaching in to take out a small cookie.

  “I baked them last night,” she said. “I hope you like cookies.”

  There was something about the way she watched him, her eyes glancing from his hand to his mouth and back again. What else could he do but place the morsel in his mouth?

  The flavor was unbearable. She’d somehow managed to combine salt, sugar and garlic with the texture of burnt and raw dough. His mouth full, he mumbled, “What kind of cookie is this?”

  “Shortbread,” she said.

  “Shortbread,” he mumbled in clarification, unable to force himself to swallow. It didn’t taste like shortbread. The longer it sat in his mouth, the worse the flavor became.

  “Oh, what a cute dog!” She leaned sideways to look past him at the staircase.

  Fergus took the opportunity to turn and spit the cookie behind the front door where she couldn’t see. He’d thought launching the food from his mouth would take care of the problem, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. The horrid cookie was gone, but the salty-garlic-sugar taste remained in full force. In some ways, the air seemed to make the taste stronger.r />
  “What’s his name?” she asked.

  He turned his attention to the out-of-breath English bulldog who labored his way down the stairs. “Traitor.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I call him Traitor.”

  There was a drawn out silence before she began to laugh. “Oh, Traitor, because you’re Scottish, and he’s English. How old is he?”

  “Fifty-six,” he stated.

  “So…eight?”

  “Fifty-six,” he repeated, trying to lessen his accent for the American.

  “People years. That makes him eight in dog years.”

  Fergus had no idea what she was talking about. He’d had Traitor for fifty-six years and was very attached to the creature. Traitor moved over to the discarded cookie and made slobbery noises as he licked at the floor.

  “I love animals. You know, when I was a kid I used to have dreams that I was a dog chewing on leather. It was so real I’d wake up with the taste of it in my mouth,” she said, conversationally.

  Fergus arched a brow, unsure how to answer the comment. “I don’t dream like that.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess that’s a weird anecdote to tell people when I first meet them.” She gave a soft laugh and looked at him expectantly.

  He found he didn’t want to disappoint her. Unsure what he was supposed to do and fearing she just might try to feed him another of the monstrosities she called cookies, Fergus abruptly took the basket from her. She gasped softly in surprise but let it go.

  “I guess I won’t keep you,” she said, her words measured and questioning, as if she wanted him to do something more.

  “Aye,” he answered.

  “Oh, my name is Donna Montgomery. I live about a half block from the bottom of the hill. It’s the house with the portrait studio sign out front. That’s me. Local photographer.”

  Fergus could see why his nephews called her Bella Donna. She was very bella, beautiful. But since when did any single male member of his family run from an attractive woman?

  He continued to stare at her. She didn’t look like a succubus or an empusa, and the conditions were not right for her to be a dziwozona.

  Donna gave a deliberate nod and inched away from him. “Have a great day, neighbor. Welcome, again, to the neighborhood.”

  “Aye,” he repeated. He slowly shut the door on her.

  As soon as the door latched, he dropped the basket and ran toward the dining room. He passed the long oak table where his nieces were magickally procuring festival food from magazine pictures. He hurried toward the library where the liquor supply was kept. Drinking whiskey straight out of the decanter, he let it burn the awful taste from his mouth.

  “Wow,” Euann said from behind him. “You’re a smooth one, Ferg.”

  Fergus turned, still gulping down the hard liquor while he eyed his nephew. He pulled the decanter away from his lips. Breathing hard, he asked. “What do ya mean? I waited until she wasn’t looking before I spit—”

  “Belladonna clearly likes ya,” Rory stated, joining Euann. “That was called flirting.”

  Fergus frowned. “Donna is bella, but I don’t think—”

  Rory laughed. “No, we call her Belladonna because she’s been trying to poison us for two months with her cooking. Trust me, when you’re expelling your guts in the bushes, her pretty loses its charm quickly.”

  “It is kind of her to try,” Fergus defended, unsure why he bothered. He didn’t know this woman and her cooking was indefensible. He took another swig of the whiskey, letting the liquid fill his mouth before swishing it between his teeth.

  “Ya know, cousin, she never looked at me like that,” Rory said to Euann.

  “Me neither,” Euann answered, also pretending Fergus wasn’t standing before them. “I think she likes Uncle Fergus.”

  “Aye. Too bad a piece of driftwood has more skills than he does when it comes to women,” Rory observed. “I couldn’t tell if he was flirting back or trying to hex her.”

  “I did not flirt,” Fergus stated. His nephews ignored him.

  “Should we offer to help him?” Euann was barely able to keep the laugh out of his teasing voice. “I think Malina might have a little of that love potion Lydia used on Erik. We could take away Fergus’s inhibitions. It worked for my big brother. He finally found a woman who will put up with him.”

  “Ach, no, I do not want to see Fergus shaking his naked arse on the front lawn.” Rory gave a dramatic shiver. “Some images cannot be erased from my mind.”

  “I don’t know. Erik’s poetry was quite lovely,” Euann said.

  “But not his singing voice,” Rory commented.

  “I think ya boys have been sampling your Uncle Raibeart’s liquor stash again,” Fergus said louder. “I told ya, I did not flirt with that woman.”

  “Oh, aye, we know,” Rory answered him. “What ya did was far from flirting. Yet she still seems to like ya.”

  “Even ya should have noted the way she smiled at ya, Uncle Ferg,” Euann added. “She wanted ya to talk to her.”

  “I should inform her that I am married.” Fergus decisively set the decanter down and made a move to leave. “I did not mean to give her the wrong impression.”

  “Go try the funnel cakes, laddies.” Angus appeared, tugging on Rory and Euann’s arms to yank them out of the room. When they were alone, Angus sighed and turned instantly serious. After a long moment, he said, “I miss her too, Fergus, but Elspeth would not want this life for ya. Perhaps we let it go on for too long, this pining of yours. I don’t expect ya to find another Elspeth, but there is something to be said for companionship. If ya worry about hurting the woman’s feelings, ya never need tell her ya carry another in your heart. No one expects ya to fall in love, but lust might be good for ya. And it sounds as if this Donna woman might have been stopping by in hopes of meeting ya. She probably saw ya around town and wanted an introduction.”

  “Ya would never betray your wife,” Fergus said. “Why are ya telling me to betray mine?”

  “Aye, I wouldn’t. But this is not about me. If I could give Elspeth back to ya, I would. She died protecting my daughter. That is a debt no man can repay. All I can do is honor her, and try to think of what she would want for ya. Elspeth loved ya, brother, and that is how I know she would not want this eternity for ya. It has been over four hundred years. I think it’s time we let Elspeth rest. I think it’s time ya let yourself have even a brief moment of companionship. I don’t know if a man can have more than one fíorghrá in his life, but ya can have a life.”

  “What makes ya think I’d even be interested in this Donna?” Fergus crossed his arms over his chest.

  “That part is fairly obvious.” Angus cleared his throat and glanced to Fergus’s kilt.

  Fergus looked down and was surprised to find his erection jutting forward. The bag he carried across his chest pressed the tartan down on his hip so that there was no hiding the way Donna affected him. Like a schoolboy, he instantly shoved the bag to hang in front of his waist.

  Angus chuckled. “Just think about it. Oh, and your dog is eating the basket. Ya might want to take him outside. Traitor might be immortal thanks to your spells, but even I am sure he’s not supposed to eat garlic. The whole front hall reeks of it.”

  Reminded of the taste, Fergus again grabbed the whiskey.

  2

  Donna hummed softly to herself, smiling brightly for anyone to see as she made her way down the long MacGregor mansion drive. She didn’t know the song, but it didn’t matter. The bagpipes and violins in her head filled her spirit and made her happy. The world was a wonderful, glorious place, and today was a brilliant day.

  What a nice man. She paused, realizing she didn’t know the last Mr. MacGregor’s name. He had kind eyes. Mr. Kind Eyes MacGregor. Such a friendly disposition too.

  They really were an attractive family. She’d met most of them briefly—some in town, others when she’d dropped off her gifts. The genetic pool had been kind to them. Money and good breeding p
robably helped.

  Good breeding? Did people still say good breeding? Donna wondered at the antiquated thought.

  The snow crunched beneath her feet. She glanced back to see the mansion disappearing behind the snowy hill. The Georgian was so pretty and majestic, overlooking the town that sprawled over the valley on one side, with the forest on the other. The house had sat abandoned nearly her entire life, remaining dormant until the MacGregors purchased it several months before. Everyone in town knew the story of the displaced English lord who’d come to Wisconsin in disgrace to build the estate. Children used to dare each other to roam the gardens at night, telling stories of how the mansion was haunted. Then, as teenagers, young couples would sneak up to be alone. It was a constant backdrop to their small town life, a landmark. In a way, the people of the town had always looked up at that mansion and felt its dominating presence. Now, when they looked up, they thought of the MacGregor family.

  “Such a nice family,” she said to herself before humming again. “Such a nice man.”

  With each step, her smile dropped by the smallest degree and the song began to fade until she stood at the end of the drive on the slushy street. Suddenly, the cold seeped into her toes, as if only now her nerve endings worked. Her humming stopped, as did the music in her head.

  Frowning in confusion, she looked up the drive. Her gaze followed her tracks. Did she just deliver…cookies? To the surly Scottish neighbor?

  What the hell was wrong with her? Cookies? Fucking cookies?

  Donna wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact she couldn’t remember why she’d felt compelled to deliver food to the neighbors. The fact this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Or the fact no one should eat anything that came out of her kitchen. Ever. It should be illegal for her to even own an oven.

  Why was she trying to feed the wealthy neighbors? It’s not like they needed her charity. They were the town gazillion-something-aires. And, if she was so compelled to take them baked goods, why didn’t she just go to the bakery and pick something up?