~*~
James watched as Lizbet moved to hunker down on the coffin and reach inside. She clenched her teeth and pulled her hand back after a few moments. She wasn't holding anything that he could see. However, she handed something to Eamon gingerly and then turned and rubbed her hands clean in the grass before hopping out of the grave.
"Come on, this needs to be filled back in before I start crying," Lizbet said.
After straining to move the coffin lid back in place and starting to shovel the dirt back into the grave, Lizbet did begin to cry quietly, even as she continued to shovel. James couldn't stand it. It didn't matter how gawky he felt around her sometimes. He grabbed her shovel, tossed it a few feet away, and took her into his arms. He was no white knight, and she’d proven over and over she didn’t need one, but he could at least give her his less-than-buff shoulder to cry on.
He held her tightly for a long time. Her tears wet his shirt, and he didn't know what to say to make her feel better. Eamon finished filling the grave and fitting the sods back into place before her tears subsided. He picked up all of their shovels and silently started back toward their camp site. Lizbet finally got herself under control and pushed softly away from James.
"Thank you," she whispered, as she turned to follow Eamon.
They descended back down the gentle slope, single file and silent. James knew that he could only guess, and probably badly, what was going on inside either of the other's heads. He was glad that he'd been able to help Lizbet get what she needed, but after her reaction to reaching in to the grave, he wasn't sure he should have. Sometimes he found it hard to remember that Lizbet was not just the girl next door anymore. No, she was so much more complicated than that.
James suspected that Eamon was less open than he pretended to be. He wasn't sure Eamon was always telling them the truth. He thought that the word "inscrutable" could probably have been invented to describe the gruagach. His golden eyes were more lion than human. Sometimes when Eamon looked at Lizbet, James thought he looked almost predatory for the briefest of seconds before registering a more human expression.
It was after midnight when they arrived back at camp, but James didn't feel like crashing immediately. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep without injecting some normalcy back into his brain after the big grave robbing adventure. He got the fire going again while Lizbet put some of their water into a pot to make hot chocolate. Just a normal camping trip. Nothing to write home about.
Once they were all sitting and staring into the fire, blowing into their cups to cool the hot chocolate, Eamon said, "Lizbet, I need you to tell me something. And I need you to draw on Morgan's memories to do it."
"I can try. You know it doesn't always work like that."
"Aye. I know. But I do think it's necessary now. I need to know if Morgan thinks the time is right."
"Right for what?" asked Lizbet.
"For what's been held back from you, lassie."
James watched Lizbet's face change from confused teenager to mature woman and when she replied, she wasn't speaking English anymore. It was fascinating—even the way she moved and held herself changed. Suddenly, he realized that Eamon was standing behind him and then there was a spot of heat at his chest. He looked down, and he was wearing a chain with a large and ornate medallion. The stone in the medallion was bright red and growing brighter. He looked back up at Lizbet, trying to understand.
And then, in a flash, he did understand. Morgan and Myrddin went to each other, wrapping their arms around each other fiercely with no intention of letting go. Their mouths met in a glorious kiss.
And then, just as suddenly, James returned, backing away from Lizbet, sheepish and confused. Arthur? No, never. He'd only been feeling Myrddin’s fantasy of living the simple life of a soldier. Myrrdin had envied the knights who had the trust of the common folk because a sorcerer is always an object of fear. He'd fantasized about being Arthur, but to come up against the reality...
James also remembered that Myrddin had never trusted that gruagach, no matter how much Morgan thought of him, just as his entire body began to shudder and intense pain slammed him in the head.
~*~
Lizbet backed away from James, stunned by the turn of events. The cute boy next door turns out to be the great love of all my lives, and I'm covered with grave dirt?
Of course I am! But wow, what a kiss…
Lizbet brought herself back to reality quickly as she watched James crumple to the ground and start to twitch. He was in danger of an arm or a leg landing in the fire. She ran to him and yelled for Eamon to grab his other arm and help her drag him away from the fire and into the grass. He was convulsing hard now, and it was difficult to keep a handhold as they pulled him to safer ground. She was terrified he would hit his head on a rock and hurt himself badly, but there was nothing more she could do now that the fire was no longer a danger.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Granny
WHEN JAMES FINALLY woke up, Lizbet handed him a cup of only slightly over-boiled coffee and some aspirin. He gave her a pained smile.
"I had no idea, I really didn't," she said. "And I really have no idea why Eamon couldn't just tell us about it a long time ago."
"I think Eamon is probably trickier than you think he is. At least, Myrddin thinks so, and I think maybe I agree."
"Och, is that how it is, then? I knew I'd regret having Myrddin back." Eamon walked up quickly from the pasture, where he’d been communing with the cows all morning. "No—I didn't tell you. But the reason for that was a good one. James had to want to help Lizbet. It had to be James, not Myrddin. It's Lizbet and James who are alive and can help the fae. Morgan and Myrddin will give what they can with their memories, but they're dead and gone, and Morgan never wanted to use the amulets to steal another life, ye ken?"
Lizbet watched James process what Eamon had just said. She didn't think that Eamon's explanation had made much of a difference to him.
"You could have told me," Lizbet said.
"Aye."
"That's it—just 'aye'?"
"I don't see the point in arguing. I've said what I had to say." Eamon took a shovel out of his pack and started to bury the embers of the fire that Lizbet had doused after making the coffee. "You two should get ready to go. Now that our landlady knows you've found what you were looking for, it'll look suspicious if you don't move on."
James snorted. Actually snorted. "No more suspicious than digging up medieval graves. Imagine what she'll think if she happens to notice that?"
"Why are you being so mean?" Lizbet asked.
James shook his head. "I'm sorry. My head is splitting, and my whole body aches. Plus, there's this old guy in my head who apparently doesn't like Eamon much."
Lizbet agreed. "No, he never did." And then a memory of young Myrddin, looking much as James did now (except for long hair and the beginnings of a beard) leaning in for a kiss, flitted across her mind. She blushed. She knew that there were still memories of Myrddin that were being held back from her, but even so…some of the ones that were flitting around in there were steamy stuff.
She wondered if James was experiencing the same memories since the big kiss, but she didn't want to ask. She didn't really want to know how he was remembering Morgan. It had all become so much weirder. She started gathering up her stuff and shoving it into her pack. She couldn't even look at him directly. This was much more uncomfortable than innocently sharing a hotel room. Much more.
"Lad, it doesn't matter whether or not Myrddin likes me. He knows what we're trying to do is the right thing, as do you, which is why you're here. If we're breaking camp, let's finish it and get on the road to Strathclyde. We don't have much time left to waste. We need to make Langoureth's rock by nightfall, which should be easy enough if we leave now."
As they broke camp and readied their bikes to leave, Lizbet heard a noise in the brush and turned to look but saw nothing there. That didn't mean they were alone, though. Faolan was sneaky and shifty and
nasty. She shuddered to think that he might have caught up with them again. She didn't mention it to the others, but she was glad that they were going to be on their way soon.
~*~
They hit the parking lot of the small hotel in Milton just before dinner time, which, as far as Lizbet was concerned, was timing it exactly right. They'd stopped for lunch along the way and taken their time about the ride since they would need to spend the night before moving on again anyway. Eamon also said they'd have to wait until dark for him to recover the box he'd hidden for Morgan. It really wouldn't do to be breaking into protected historical landmarks when the sun was still shining.
After they ate dinner in James's room (she was glad he suggested the separate rooms before she had), they rode their bikes about three miles to Dumbarton Castle. It was closed to visitors by the time they arrived, but she thought it was beautiful in the orange light of the setting sun. It wasn't the castle she remembered: Langoureth's castle had been at the top at the highest part of the rock, and she couldn't see any part of it that was still standing.
"Eamon, the castle's gone—the one at the base of the rock didn't exist in Morgan's time. It's like the freaking hill all over again. How will we find what we're looking for?"
"Och, no worries on this one. I didn't hide it in the castle. The place it's hidden was not likely to be disturbed. Eamon pointed toward the stone face of Dumbarton rock. Do ye see that gray-like shadow about halfway up the cliff face?"
"No, I don't see anything."
"Right. Nor would anyone. I know where 'tis. Morgan knows where 'tis. And Langoureth knew, but she's been gone a very long time. It also takes a bit of magic to get to it in the first place. That, or some very long ropes and knowing exactly where the hidey hole is so that you can shimmy down to it and be on target. No, I don't think it's been disturbed."
"You're going to rappel down the mountain to get to it?"
"No, lass, I'm no mountaineer. I'm a gruagach. We're a bit sticky if need be. I'll just climb up. Not that difficult for me to do, but it's best if I wait until strong dark."
Sticky. Lizbet wasn't sure she really wanted to know that. And she definitely was never going to ask Eamon to dance. "Okay, so how long should we wait?"
"Nay, you dinnae need to stay with me. You two go back to the hotel, and I'll catch you up when I get back. It should only be a few hours. I just wish there were some cows about."
What is up with the cow thing? Lizbet thought. Out loud, she said, "Okay. I'm alright with that. There’s a hot bath at the hotel with my name on it."
James nodded in agreement. "About three days worth of hot bath for me. We'll see you back there."
~*~
Eamon waited patiently for the sun to disappear below the horizon and dusk to fade. When you've lived over a thousand years, a few hours is no time at all. Since his quest began, he'd spent hundreds and hundreds of hours just sitting and waiting for one thing or another to happen so that he could take the actions he'd been sent to take. This was nothing. There were so few actions left before the quest was finally over. He could return to the things that made him happy, if his mistress would allow it: the cows, the green land, and maybe, every so often, a nice saucer of milk left by a milking maid who appreciated his watchful eye over the herd.
He'd made out that the climb would be nothing to him, but even so, it presented a challenge. It's not that he was risking his life, mind. It was simply that if he did fall, it would hurt when he hit the ground. Hurt, yes…but in addition to being sticky as necessary, gruagachs bounce. And it really wouldn't hurt for long. Just long enough to remind him why he didn't want to let his attention wander and end up affixing himself to a loose stone that would let go and send him freefalling. Not that it wouldn't be fun on the way down—he just didn't need to draw attention.
Eamon focused on locating the crevice above his head as he climbed. He had been there only twice, the first time to place the box Morgan gave him. The second time he placed a golden cup stolen from a monastery next to the box. He was sure they would both still be there—who could reach them but a gruagach or one who controlled the hawks? No human could have found them, and no fae would dare disturb a box with Morgan's mark.
Eamon reached the hole and crouched in the opening. It was just wide enough for him enter and travel several feet, but not high enough for him to stand upright. The box was sitting there in front of him, just as he had left it, the cup next to it. He managed to get them both inside his pack without going over backward off the side of the cliff.
Eamon clambered back down the mountain. It was just a quick run back to the hotel with his treasures in tow. He didn't like being back around the lights and the people and the modernity. He was cheered by the idea that he would soon be just another gruagach who could spend all of his time with the wee cows, if that's what he chose.
~*~
Lizbet let Eamon in when he knocked. It was easy to tell who it was: the knocking sound came from around waist level. Eamon came in and dropped his backpack on the bed. He set the items they'd collected on their journey out on the bedspread one by one.
"There you go. The box, the knife, the cup and the bone. You've everything you need now except Faolan. And only Morgan knows how he fits into this."
"Yep. And she ain't talkin', is she?" Lizbet sat down on the bed and picked up the cup. It was beautiful. And then she dropped it as though it had burned her. "Omigod, that's the cup Faolan used for Myrddin's blood."
"Aye, t’is that. And what did ye think the knife was?"
"I guess there's some sort of symmetry in needing them to undo the spell, just like having to have Myrddin's bone. So…let's find out what's in the box…" Lizbet pried off the lid of the metal rectangle. It contained a stack of small flat stones, separated by what was left of rotted parchment sheets. No, not stones. They were clay. Clay with writing on them. Which made Morgan way smart and a real advance planner. She knew that parchment could rot away before anyone got a chance to use it. Lizbet laid the tablets out in a line with the top tablet at the start of the make-shift page. "I think this is the instruction manual," she turned to Eamon, "Is it?"
"I don't know, lassie. I've learned how to read in modern times, but I don't know how to read the Roman language, which is what Morgan wrote that in. Our old tongue was seldom written down. The druids didn't trust writing."
"Well, I'm sure I'll make sense of it if I focus and let Morgan help me out. I'm going to go get James, and we can work on it together."
Lizbet walked over to James's room across the hall and knocked on the door. The door hadn't been closed all the way, and it opened wider when she knocked. She called out, "James?" and pushed the door fully open. She walked into the room, expecting to see him lying on the bed, napping. He had to still have a killer headache—she knew that one from experience. But he wasn't there.
She backed up and pushed open the bathroom door, which was only partially closed in any case, and he wasn't there, either. It was a small room. Unless he was hiding under the bed, he was gone.
"Eamon?" The panic in her voice must have put a fire under the gruagach. She looked down to find him standing at her side almost as soon as she called for him. "James is gone."
"Och, don't panic, I'm sure there's nothing to this," Eamon waved a hand in the direction of the dresser, "Look, right over there. There's a wee note."
Lizbet walked over to the dresser and picked the note up, reading the few lines on the paper.
Hi Granny,
I've got your boyfriend. I'm sure
you know his number.
Call me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Please Release Me
IT WAS A clever and simple kidnap. James imagined it would have been difficult to surreptitiously sneak an unwilling six-foot-tall college kid out of a hotel and into a get-away car in broad daylight. Not so hard to sneak up behind the same guy and poke the tip of a sharp knife blade in his back while advising him that he should walk down the hall to t
he fourth door on the left if he didn't want to know what it feels like to be stabbed.
James had no interest in finding out what it feels like to be stabbed, and then the whispers reminded him exactly what it was like. If he had no interest before the memory of the monk and the knife kicked in, he had less after. He knew if he resisted, Faolan wouldn't give a second thought to slitting him open. Someone might hear him scream, but by the time an ambulance got to him, it could already be far too late.
James's heart rate was now almost back to normal, and he was glad that the black-haired monk hadn't gone for something cliché in the bind-and-gag department. At least he wasn't tied into a chair. He also didn't have a heavy rag stuffed into his mouth, just some really sticky tape to make sure he didn't get a conversation going. Still, with his head aching from the after effects of the remerge and the ropes on his bound hands looped through a radiator, he probably wasn't going to be getting super comfortable any time soon.
James wouldn't turn his nose up at a successful rescue right about now. It was a shame he couldn't call on the elements like Myrddin could have done and bring down a lightning bolt to fry the jerk. If anybody needed a good frying, it was this guy. Getting a second chance at stopping your own murderer was as good an excuse for supernatural overkill as any that a person was going to get.
He watched Thomas sitting calmly at the small table in the corner of the room, James's cell phone set in front of him, hands folded in his lap, eyes closed, and head slightly bowed. Was he praying? Really? At least James still had his unused emergency burner shoved into his front pocket. If he could get to it when Thomas went to the bathroom or left the room, it might help.
Riot Girls: Seven Books With Girls Who Don't Need A Hero Page 24