I stretched my arms. My body wasn’t my own. It felt scratchy, cold even.
“What do you remember?” Gran asked.
“Dancing?” I mumbled, finding my voice.
Gran took a seat on the side of the bed. “You had me worried, and I’m sure you remember more than what you’re telling me. I had a bad feeling about this trip, and I was telling you the truth.”
“Yeah, lesson learned. I should always listen to my ghostly grandmother.” My thoughts drifted from being in the water to the dragon’s arrival.
Riding the dragon hadn’t been as easy as it sounded. It wasn’t just a thing of holding on. How I’d been able to breathe underwater was still a mystery to me. Only snippets of the return to shore made any sense to me. But Alistair’s warmth in his dragon shape, I completely recalled the sanctity and safety in that space. I rested in his embrace, and he sought to warm me thoroughly.
Yet, at one point, I remembered floating outside my body as life left me. Confusion marred my memories. Surely, I even heard an Old Norse chant being sung over me as an arctic coldness flooded my veins.
Despite the large fire, I shivered, unable to get warm. Although still my body, my limbs felt heavy. Foreign.
Gran patted my hand—something she’d always done to soothe me. Interesting what one could do with a small gesture.
“Hypothermia had set in, right?” Questions rolled off my tongue. “What’s happening? And where is Alistair?”
“Alistair saved you, and I think this magic is going to come with a cost.” She shook her head. “We’ll have to see about that, but for now, you rest.”
Concern marred her brow, and for a ghost, that was saying something. Usually, her face was as serene as a Sunday dinner, but it seemed as if she spoke of a poisoned lunch. With her brow furrowed, her lips pursed, I had no doubt if she could have moved things, she would have.
She came closer. “I just need to pull this blanket up higher around you.”
“We both know you can’t.” Ghosts could do many things, but moving physical objects was not one of their abilities.
She reached out to tuck in the thick fur blanket around me.
And it moved.
We gaped at each other, and I stopped breathing for a moment.
Gran lifted her hands and stared at them.
“Well, there’s only one way of knowing for sure.” She headed toward the door, and instead of walking through as she usually would, she slammed right into it, and stumbled backward.
That meant one of two things: either Gran could now do the ghostly impossible or she was once more alive.
Had Alistair resurrected her? When I’d thought about death, I’d never thought heaven would be a stuffy room. Heaven? Geesh.
“Well, you can't just sit there and think there isn't work to be done.” Gran’s mouth said one thing, but her eyes were as large as dinner plates.
A knock on the door startled me, and in entered a young woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her plump, freckled face and bright smile should have calmed me down.
It didn't.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“His Highness asked that I check and see if you needed anything,” she said. “You were in the water quite a while.”
“We’re fine.” Gran smiled with a flourish of her hand. For those who didn’t know her, it was a polite smile. For me, it meant she was calculating and thinking about everything that was going on. If this were a recipe, someone had just added a pinch too much salt into her Bundt cake.
I stared at the room a little more. “He definitely has an affinity for boars.”
“Boars?” Gran raised a questioning brow.
“They’re everywhere.”
“Does this bother you?”
“No, but what if we’ve found ourselves somewhere where they hunt people? I mean, hunting is something that everyone can do, but I don’t have to like it,” I rambled on. Tears pricked my eyes. Death. Geesh. “How is it possible to be here? Where is here?”
Chapter Seventeen
Leslie
I struggled to my feet, needing to see more of the place than just this room of mounted boar heads. It didn't matter which color the Macleod tartan was supposed to be, I drew the line at taxidermy.
“Keep the curtains closed,” Gran warned.
I nodded, not understanding. I was never one to throw back the curtains and announce, “Look at me!” Instead, I liked privacy, but I also noticed again that there was no sun.
“Gran,” I called. “Do you think we can sneak down and explore this place?”
Gran sat on the bed, her body flickering between corporeal and incorporeal within the blink of an eye.
“I can't seem to get this right,” she muttered.
I'd not seen her so confused, so out of sorts.
“What do you think this means? Am I about to disappear? Can I die again?” Her voice rose and fell, and I felt her anguish.
“We just have to find out what this place is.”
“I can tell you what it isn't,” she muttered. “For me to be moving from the realm of the dead back to the living—well, we have problems.”
“Maybe it's not you. Maybe it's me.” Who knew that the confession of death might be so soothing? “I mean, I was out in that water a long time. And so far, this place does remind me of all those historical novels, mixed with a lot of the paranormal.”
“Historical romance novels.” Gran smiled, placed her hand to her brow, and called out, “Oh, woe is me. Oh, kind sir. It reminds me of those books you’ve been writing.”
“Yeah, the books that the publisher kept saying aren’t selling,” I muttered.
“Well, at least that got you out of your funk.” I think she must have considered what my death would have done. She’d been with me my whole life, and I was glad that she remained with me now, too.
“We’re together, and I’m not ready to leave you.” I reached out to hug her. In all of my years I’d never been able to. Wrapping my arms around Gran, I breathed in her comfort. She tightened her strong arms around me and rubbed my back in small circles. “I never thought this would be possible.” I bit back my sob, and pulling back, I saw her lip tremble, too.
“Well, there is always a silver lining, and I would hope not. Now, let's grab a candle or flashlight and see what we can discover.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I said.
“That doesn't matter if I'm already dead.” Gran shrugged and helped me pull out drawers until we found a flashlight.
“This should do.” Finding one, I flicked it on and off to ensure it worked.
“I'm sure he has a security guard on staff,” Gran whispered as I sneaked to the door and cracked it open, looking both ways down the hallway to make sure it was clear.
“Yes, but are they like mall cops or armed guards with swords and armor? Those I'd love to see.”
“Yes, what did the pirate tallywhacker call out when coming ashore? Tallyho.” Gran snickered at her joke. “Just a bit of booty humor to relieve some of your fear, dear.”
“Eww, those are not things I’d like to discuss.” No one wanted to discuss sexual innuendos with their motherly figures—like, just no. We followed the corridor until we came to a landing with French doors.
“Why is that?” Gran asked in a whisper.
“Because you're like my mother in so many ways.”
“Dear, your mother was always a nincompoop. She was never one who believed in magic and books, no matter how much I tried to get her attention.” We slowly opened the door and followed the winding stairs down into a cool, dark dungeon.
But this place could have been a modern subterranean apartment with its stone walls, for it was different from anything I’d ever imagined.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Gran whispered.
“Too late to stop now. I hear voices.”
Once at the bottom of the steps, and from afar, I watched this large pointy stone glow in an
unearthly bluish hue. Illuminated, it cast shadows onto the walls, and the closer we moved, the more I saw other ethereal beings floating toward it.
“What is this place?” Gran asked, her face balled up in fear.
“But it sort of calls me, too, Gran. I can hear what sounds like one-thousand voices calling my name at once.”
“I don't think you should go there.”
“But I have to.” My feet moved of their own accord, closer and closer, and as I stretched my hand out to touch the stone, the voices united, sounding much like a large choir, then chanted: “Forever united, forever apart, until you become one of heart.”
Images of Alistair flashed in my mind, and I jerked my hand away.
“Leslie, Myrtle,” Alistair called, surprising me. “What are you doing down here? Please come with me. I’m sure you and your gran are starving. The place is all ours, as the wolves are in the city.”
That explained the scent of canine that I couldn’t quite place.
“Oh, I don’t eat, and please, call me Gran. I haven’t been obsessed with food for almost a good one hundred years now. Why don’t you two get to know each other more, and then we can all chat?” Gran quickly turned and left us alone.
Gran wanted me to get to know Alistair better? She was really rooting for us. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that, though. At home, she used to just sit across from me and watch me eat to experience food vicariously through me. Nothing like having someone stare at you to curb your appetite.
I allowed Alistair to lead me back above.
“All of your questions will be answered shortly. I had the chef prepare your favorites.”
The thought of food made me gag. To be honest, I enjoyed food like anyone else. My best recollections came with a food memory. I couldn't recall what I did last week, but I could remember that I had the best Monte Cristo sandwich from Bennigan's Restaurant in 1998.
Although I knew that all the different foods on the table should have been appealing, it was like attending a barbeque and finding out they only had vegan patties and imitation cheese—it might all be filling, but it sure wasn't going to be enjoyable.
“How do you know what my favorites might be?” I asked, and a tinge of apprehension spiced my words.
Love required me to let down my guard, but life had taught me that no one loved a failure. Neglected, Gran had been my only constant, my imaginary friend that only I could see. As much as I craved to be loved, I wasn’t sure if I could take that first step. But if Gran, who’d sought to build me back up, trusted Alistair, then I’d be a fool not to give it a go, right? There was a reason she was the only one that truly saw me, who’d been my most beloved companion and friend.
And above all else, I loved my gran, always.
“I want to know everything there is about you, Leslie. We are connected,” Alistair declared. “Right now, I could write a dossier on you and reveal all of your hidden talents.” He flicked his tongue at that.
“Whoa, cowboy. I don't know what my gran may have told you, but I'm not that kind of girl. I may write about sex, but I... I don't just go jumping into bed with the first handsome man I see.”
“You find me handsome?” Alistair flashed a bright smile. If he were a dog, this would’ve been akin to me rubbing him behind the ears, and him wagging his tail.
“I also find it strange that you're a dragon one moment, and then this god of a man standing before me, but I'm keen on waiting to hear the truth of the matter.”
“Well.” He moved behind me and guided me toward the wonderful dining room table that had all of my favorite foods spread about—from Thai to Italian brick oven pizza, to authentic Philly cheesesteaks and cheddar biscuits…a mixture of Southern collards and turnip greens, and even my gran's cornbread that was thick enough to look like cake.
“How…?”
“Magic.” He pulled my high-back chair, smooth as a butler, and I eased into it. I didn't notice when he moved forward and poured me a glass of red Moscato.
“Not what I’m usually into, but since you insist on this.” I fingered the wine glass’s stem.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “I've been to several vineyards, but I've never had Moscato.”
“It tastes like a flat soft drink with a kick.”
I might as well have told him that it tasted like number 40 dye, for he quirked up his left eyebrow and nodded as though he understood, and I knew he understood nothing.
“Is your goal to stuff me?” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
“According to what your gran keeps telling me, yes.”
I spat out my drink across the white tablecloth. I wanted to kick my gran. She loved for me to think about getting laid, and the dashing Alistair might have been tempting if I wasn’t newly dead.
The food looked delicious, like “food magazine preparation” delicious.
“I've never met anyone like you.” I could feel him putting on the charm, and I wanted to smack him—a gesture so unlike me. Where was this rage coming from? I wasn’t a violent person unless one considered the body count in my fiction. I understood death, and right now, instead of being pulled into his charm and vigor, I just wanted to rip off his head, reach down his throat, and be free.
“I would say that was a compliment.”
“Wolves?” Again, the image of wolves fighting vampires struck me hard like a suppressed memory. This place appeared large enough to serve as the center for a cult or at least an online college’s base. Although technically alone, I could make out the noises of staff roaming around nearby. “Where is everyone?” I could practically hear them all on the other side of the walls, as if they were made out of cellophane.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
It felt like he was belittling my observation skills. I gripped my fork and shoved the sweet potatoes from one side of the bone China plate to the other.
“The ones who are in this compound? We might be here in this room alone, but the wolves are still on the property. Why are they not joining us for this fancy feast?”
“They do not like to intrude when I have guests.”
It was like having thin walls. With all of them so close, I could hear every shifting of material. My senses were on overdrive with the voices—every sound. My head started to swim.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“This is silly,” I said and held my head in my hands. “I’m not feeling so well.”
“That is to be expected in your condition.”
“My condition?”
He shrugged. He was hiding something. An undercurrent of anger tinged with an air of secrecy ran between us, and for a moment, I wasn't sure I wanted to remain in his presence any longer. My emotions swung hot and cold on an invisible pendulum. A part of me wanted to lick him like a plate, and the other, more murderous side wanted me to see what he looked like on the inside.
“You should speak with your gran. She can inform you of all of the things that have transpired since your fall from the ship.”
“Secrets are never a good thing to have,” I warned.
“Some secrets are simply there because the truth is not to be told by the person being asked. Your grandmother can inform you of what has happened and the consequences thereof.”
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose. His voice held a warning that I didn't understand.
He quickly pushed back from the table and stomped away like a prepubescent teen, just like my brother used to do after watching the Brady Bunch back in the day.
Everything appeared too unnaturally perfect. Was he putting his best effort forward to help me acclimate, heal, to set me at ease? Or was something more sinister lurking in the background?
“Sheesh, what was that all about?” I, too, stood to head back to my room. If I were to start asking questions, might as well start with the one person I trusted: Gran.
Chapter Eighteen
Alistair
Normally, he wasn’t one to
be called into the city to deal with some form of human crime. Yet, during the Witching Hour, Alistair gritted his teeth. He pulled the black leather coat around him and tried to keep to the shadows upon arriving where Beau and his team waited.
This city never slept, but the streets were emptier than it would be later on in the day. He rounded the bend to see the flashing blue lights on the blue-and-white police car.
“What are you doing here, Alistair? I didn’t think you received my message.” Beau stood in front of an alleyway between two apartment buildings. Thunder boomed, and the storm that was just on his periphery arrived.
“Pretty rough out here, huh?” he answered, and shoved his hands into his pockets. The storms had a way of appearing out of nowhere, blowing from the river to land. “Thanks for your message. Local PD is promising its discretion, as well.”
“I see you followed my advice.” Rose, as the Order’s supernatural liaison, and the link between the Order and the human world, was a walking lexicon of information, sidled up to his side. “Well, don’t thank me quite yet. I dare say, something is going on around these parts.” She twirled her finger around to indicate the city.
“Something is always happening in this area, I assume, as tourists make their way through these enigmatic streets,” Alistair countered.
“But this is not about tourists,” she retorted.
Their window for him to take a look at the scene would only last so long before the other police officers would show up and begin the human part of investigating.
“Are you going to tell me the details here on the street or take me inside and let me see what’s occurred for myself?” Alistair asked.
Beau gestured his head to the side, and they followed.
“And that is why you’re here.” Rose pressed her lips together. Oh, boy, Alistair knew what that meant. This was not going to be good news. “With all the caretaking of your latest mewler, a Ms. Cutlass, I’m surprised you were able to pull yourself away.”
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