“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The driver’s voice interrupted their conversation as it came through the speaker system in the rear of the limo. “Gentlemen, we’re approaching the bridge to the Isle of Skye. Remember that I will drop you off, but I will not wait there. I’ll be at the Lochalsh Hotel for one full day before returning to Inverness. You have my card. Call if you’re ready to return.”
Stark tapped on the raised, tinted glass that separated the driver from the rear of the limo. Silently, the panel slid down so that Stark could see the driver, who had an adult Mark that looked like sapphire smoke.
“Hey, what’s the problem with waiting by the bridge?” Stark asked.
The vamp gave him a dismissive glance in the rearview mirror before responding gruffly. “You’ll see soon enough. Anything else?”
“No, I guess no—” The driver didn’t wait for him to finish to put the partition up.
“Sheesh,” Kevin said. “Have you noticed no one over here is very friendly?”
“Yeah, but I don’t really blame them. It was our High Priestess who started a war with humans that is still not resolved. I heard one of the London Sons of Erebus call us ‘colonists that can’t sort their issues.’ ”
“And that’s bad?”
Stark shrugged. “Apparently.”
The limo took a hard left. Gravel crunched under the wheels as it crept forward toward a long, narrow suspension bridge that Stark got a glimpse of before his window automatically rolled itself up.
“You can get out here,” the driver’s gruff voice sounded once more through the speakers.
Stark and Kevin grabbed their backpacks and climbed out of the limo. They’d barely closed the door when the car pulled away so quickly that it threw gravel at them.
“Hey! Why be a dick?” Kevin called after him.
“I’m losing his damn card,” said Stark.
“Good idea. And I’ll give him a shit Yelp review,” Kevin muttered as he stared at the long, narrow bridge that stretched between an outcropping of the Scottish mainland and the island. Live torches lighted it, but they did little to dispel the mist and cold that blanketed the island.
“All right. Well, this is the place.” Stark started toward the bridge. “Anastasia described it perfectly, but it’s not like there’re a bunch of ways on and off the island.” When Kevin didn’t respond, Stark paused and glanced back. Kevin had taken a couple steps after him but was currently standing still. His gaze was completely focused on the bridge. He cracked his knuckles nervously and shook his head like a cat trying to dispel water. “Hey, you coming or what?”
Kevin blinked several times and finally turned his gaze to Stark. “You don’t feel it?”
“The cold or the wet? It’s nasty out here, but it is January in the Highlands. Not exactly tourist weather.”
“Not that … Dread. Fear. And worse.”
Stark opened his mouth to make a sarcastic response, but he could see that Kevin was completely serious. His face was so pale that his red Mark looked like fresh blood, and even though it was cold there was a film of sweat on his face.
“Hey, you feeling okay?” Stark asked him.
“Nope. Not at all. I don’t want to do anything except run—and I mean away from the island. This isn’t normal.”
“Oh, shit. It’s part of the spell that protects Skye,” Stark realized.
“Then why the hell aren’t you sweating and terrified?”
Stark shrugged and his lips lifted in a cocky smile. “Maybe I’m just a lot tougher than you.”
Kevin frowned. “Riiiiight, no. I’m about one hundred percent sure that’s not it.”
“You wanna wait here? If Sgiach lets us in, I can text you.”
“Screw that.” Kevin drew a deep breath and shifted the weight of his backpack. “I’m coming with you.”
Side by side, Stark and Kevin entered the bridge. Intrigued by the mist-shrouded isle, Stark gazed around him. Far below, the water was dark and choppy. Once in a while, a wave caught in the torchlight and looked out of place with its cheery white froth.
“Don’t fucking look down!” Kevin told Stark.
“Dude, you sound panicked.”
“You have no idea. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. With every step it gets worse. I know any second this bridge is gonna break and we’ll fall down there.” Kevin pointed at the water without looking down. “And be eaten by sea monsters.”
“Sea monsters? Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. A big, bad, painful, fatal heart attack with a side of Ebola and an extra helping of being choked, stabbed, drowned, and then eaten.”
“Huh.” They’d come to the end of the bridge where there sat an arch made of white stone with veins of silver running through it. It was mesmerizing, and not in a creepy way. The silver reflected the flickering torchlight with electric beauty, like a zillion lightning bolts had been trapped within the white marble. “Wow, that’s incredible.”
“Ah, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Kevin turned his face away from the arch.
“What the hell?”
Kevin sucked in long breaths and released them like he was in the middle of trying to bench too much weight. “I can hardly look at it.”
Stark knew he wasn’t playing. Kevin looked awful—like he might puke or bolt. Or both.
From the island side of the arch a deep, disembodied voice barked, “Ha Gaelic akiv? ”
“We, uh, don’t speak Scottish,” said Stark.
Someone snorted. Loudly. “Are ye daft? It isnae Scottish. ’Tis the mother tongue—Gaelic.”
“That either,” said Stark.
“So, it’ll be the English, then. What is it uze want?”
“To run screaming in the other direction,” Kevin muttered.
“As this isle isnae fer wains—leave.”
“Shh!” Stark shushed Kevin before facing where he thought the voice came from. “We’re James Stark and Kevin Redbird from the Tulsa House of Night. Our High Priestess, Anastasia, contacted Queen Sgiach about our arrival.” He squared his shoulders and added. “And we’re not babies.”
As the silence stretched between them and the misty island, Kevin shifted restlessly from foot to foot and whispered to Stark, “How’d you know what a wain is?”
Stark only answered him because he wanted to distract the kid. “My grandpa MacUallis called me that until the day he died. He didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t a kid anymore. Actually, Grandpa was a mean old dude who didn’t give a shit about much of anything except my grandma and what he used to call a ‘wee dram’—which was actually single malt scotch, and he drank way more than a little of it.”
From the middle of the other side of the archway, a man materialized. He was muscular and built like an athlete, which more than showed because he wasn’t wearing one of the kilts they’d glimpsed as they traveled through the Highlands on their way to Skye. This man was wrapped in a thick length of woolen plaid the color of the autumn leaves. Most of his chest was bare. He wore leather forearm guards carved with knots and swirls. The hilt of a knife gleamed at his waist and as Stark studied him, he noticed a gold chieftain’s torque around his neck. His hair was shaven to his scalp except for a short Mohawk and his close-cropped beard was entirely white. Golden hoops decorated one of his earlobes. His face was deeply lined—he looked ancient—but the sapphire tattoos that framed his face in griffins’ claws and extended onto his cheekbones were as crisp and as powerful as his Warrior body.
He glared at Stark. “What did ya say yer granda’s name was?”
Stark blinked in surprise, but answered, “Robby MacUallis. He always said that we’re from here. I mean the Highlands of Scotland. We came to the US in the mid-1700s after something called Culloden happened.”
The Warrior snorted. “And that’s all ye k
now of yer past? Culloden happened ?”
Stark sighed. “You sound just like him. He talked like Culloden was yesterday and not April 16, 1746.”
A woman’s laugh sounded from the soupy darkness. It was a full, rich laugh, but there was something about the power it held that caused the fine hairs on Stark’s forearms to lift.
“Seems this young vampyre isn’t totally ignorant of his past—though obviously he knows nothing of his heritage.”
Queen Sgiach stepped out from within the wall of mist. She was tall and moved with a lithe grace that made Stark think of a lioness. Her striking sapphire tattoo of swords with intricately carved hilts blazed against the fair skin of her face as if Nyx had just placed it there. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, which were an unusual shade of bright hazel mixed with green. Her hair was waist length and except for a single streak of copper, it was perfectly white. A silver coronet crowned her head. In the center of it was a fat piece of amber that reflected the torchlight with golden fire. To Stark she didn’t look old or young; she looked like a warrior goddess.
Stark bowed deeply and respectfully to her, his hand fisted over his heart, and Kevin did the same.
“Merry meet, Queen Sgiach,” Stark said.
When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly soft. She didn’t sound pissed or welcoming—only curious. “Your High Priestess, Anastasia, contacted me saying two of her Warriors were going to request access to my island. Why should I allow you to enter?”
Anastasia had warned him that Sgiach hadn’t let her explain why she was requesting entrance to Skye for them. The queen insisted the Warriors speak for themselves, so Stark had considered how he would answer that question all the way across the ocean. He and Kevin had talked about it and come up with an excellent answer that sounded important and mature, but as he faced Sgiach and felt the power radiating from her, his well-rehearsed words evaporated from his mind and left only the most basic truth.
“I’m trying to fix the mistake I made when I supported Neferet and her war. My mistake cost vampyre and human lives, and allowed an entire race of new vampyres,” he paused and gestured at Kevin, who gritted his teeth and stepped up beside Stark. “Red vampyres like my friend Kevin, to be used—brutally, terribly. I have sworn to Nyx to stop Neferet before she hurts more of us.”
Sgiach studied Kevin. “I have never before seen a red vampyre. Tell me, young Warrior Kevin, is it true that you sway human’s minds and make them do your bidding?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, to some extent. Although, how well it works depends on the strength of will of the human. But that is just one of the differences between red and blue vampyres. We also must have an invitation to enter a private home, and full sunlight can kill us.”
Seoras snorted. “And are all of you barely outta yur nappies?”
Kevin blinked in confusion and Stark whispered. “Nappies are diapers.”
“Oh. Uh. Well, most of us are pretty young because our kind hasn’t been around long, but as far as I know, I am the youngest fully Changed red vampyre in this world.”
“He also is the only vampyre, red or otherwise, in this world who has an affinity for all five elements,” Stark added.
Sgiach’s arched brows lifted. “Fascinating,” she said. Her moss and amber eyes skewered Stark. “Tell me, young Warrior, why did you support a High Priestess who was so obviously not following Nyx’s path?”
“That’s something I’ve asked myself every day since I finally stood against her. I have no excuse. I didn’t want to believe my High Priestess had turned to Darkness, so I did what she told me to do for way too long.”
“May I ask something?” Kevin said, and then hastily added, “Please, Your Majesty.”
Sgiach said nothing but nodded.
Kevin cleared his throat, cracked his knuckles and said, “Why didn’t you do anything to stop her? You knew she’d turned from Nyx. You knew the human/vampyre war was wrong. You’re a Warrior Queen. You could’ve fought her, but you didn’t do anything. Why?” He repeated.
Seoras took a step forward, hand on the hilt of his dirk, but Sgiach touched his arm and he stood down.
“Your question is impertinent,” she said.
“I apologize. I don’t mean to be rude. But I’m one of the people who suffered because Neferet was allowed to use an entire race of vampyres to gain power over humans and her own kind. It’s personal for me. So, I’d like to know why you didn’t do anything to stop her.”
Stark stifled a sigh and spoke up, even though he wished Kevin had kept his mouth shut. “Yeah, I don’t want to insult you either. We’re here asking for help, so that would be stupid. Neferet caused so much misery—so much death—I’m not blaming you. Hell, I was there. I was one of her generals and I watched it happen. That’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I should’ve done something, but the truth is I couldn’t have stopped her. I’ll bet you could have, though. Why didn’t you?” Stark held his breath and waited for the queen to let Seoras strike him dead—or maybe she’d just cut off his head herself.
She did neither, but she did speak to Seoras. “They remind me of you—especially the MacUallis boy.”
“I was never that young,” growled Seoras.
“But you were that impertinent,” said the queen.
Seoras snorted. “Were? ”
Sgiach faced Stark and Kevin, looking from one to the other as she spoke. “Do either of you know why I am queen of this island?”
“You control Old Magick,” said Stark.
“No, young MacUallis. No one controls Old Magick. Not even those who wield it—perhaps especially not those who wield it.”
“You guard the island,” said Kevin.
“That is much closer to the truth,” said Sgiach. “My affinity, granted to me centuries ago by Nyx, is to be Guardian and Queen of this isle where Old Magick retreated as humans spread across the world and the old ways were forgotten. If Old Magick was to be left unguarded and loosed on the modern world—a world that is predominately governed by men who believe money is power and view the earth as something to exploit—Old Magick, too, would have been exploited. The truth, Warriors from the Tulsa House of Night, is that I very much wanted to lift my claymore and lead my Warriors against Neferet and her foolish quest for power, but our world no longer respects the old ways, and if I had left my isle nothing would have dammed Old Magick. It would have flowed unchecked from Skye, and I believe the balance of Light and Darkness would have been tipped to the Dark, even though Neferet would have been defeated.”
“So, you stood by and waited,” Stark said.
Sgiach nodded, and the torchlight caught the amber jewel in her coronet so that it blazed with fire. “Yes. I waited. I believed those who still followed our Goddess would prevail, and I did what I could from here to encourage that.”
“It was you! You were the reason the sprites suddenly came back to Oklahoma,” said Kevin.
The queen’s eyes narrowed. “Young Warrior, have you been trafficking with Old Magick?”
“Well, a little. I had to. But not on purpose—at first,” said Kevin.
“Yer gonna need to explain that!” Seoras practically barked the words.
With a trembling hand, Kevin wiped the sweat that beaded his brow. “That’d be a lot easier if I didn’t feel like I was gonna puke or pass out.”
Sgiach raised one hand and spoke several words in Gaelic as she pointed at Kevin. Instantly Stark heard him sigh with relief.
“Wow. Thanks.”
“Explain why you used Old Magick.”
“Well, I had to protect the Resistance against, um, Stark and the rest of Neferet’s soldiers who were going to slaughter a bunch of innocent vamps and humans who’d come to them for help.”
Stark had to force himself not to hang his head in shame or apologize. Again.
“But
how did you know to call the sprites?” asked Sgiach.
“Oh, well, because my sister, Zoey Redbird, told me.”
The queen’s brow furrowed. “Is that not the name of one of the first fledglings killed in the human/vampyre war?”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah.”
“Does your affinity for spirit allow you to speak with the dead?”
“No. Well, maybe. Actually, I don’t know. I’ve never tried. But the sister I was talking about isn’t my sister from this world. She’s from another world that’s a lot like this one, only there they’ve defeated Neferet.”
Sgiach’s gaze sharpened on Kevin. “Another world?”
“Yeah. That’s why we’re here.”
Seoras opened his mouth to speak, but his queen shook her head slightly, stilling him.
“The door between worlds has been discovered.” Sgiach’s voice was thick with dread.
“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you—why we need your help,” Stark said. “This Neferet—our Neferet—found out about that other world and that her mirror image figured out a way to become immortal. We believe she’s going there to help that Neferet escape and then learn from her how to become a goddess.”
Kevin took up the telling of the tale. “When she’s immortal she’ll return here. If that happens, she will be almost unstoppable, and the war she started in Oklahoma will be nothing compared to what she’ll do to our entire world.”
“Not to mention,” Stark added, “that releasing that Neferet, who is already immortal, would be very, very bad for that world. If our Neferet is already over there, they need to be warned. If she’s still here, we need to stop her.”
Sgiach stared from Stark to Kevin for so long that Stark began frantically thinking of something else, anything else, he could say to persuade her. At his side, Kevin cracked his knuckles restlessly.
And finally, he thought he might have it—one single reason he should enter the island. A reason tied to his grandpa—the reason the protective spell cast around the island didn’t affect him. Stark drew a deep breath, dropped to his knees, and took a chance.
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