Water, Circle, Moon

by Sally McBride

  “What life? What do you mean?” Laine asked, feeling her heart in her throat.

  But Petra just shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. Arabella Griffin stepped forward again, slipped her hand into Petra’s and held her tight. Petra whimpered but didn’t move.

  “No,” said Arabella. “You can’t go back.” She looked at Laine appraisingly, then at Arren, who moved to Laine’s side with one long step.

  “You’d best tell us what Petra is talking about,” Arren said gently.

  “Petra spent six years living as a normal horse, hiding among them. She didn’t change, didn’t speak, didn’t once break her cover by admitting her human side.”

  All at once Petra dropped to her knees and melted into Arabella’s arms.

  Petra sobbed convulsively. “I let myself be r-ridden by kids, round and round in circles. It was horrid. Do you know what I missed most of all? Egg and chips with lots of ketchup, and a good hot cup of tea. It was so bloody boring!” Her voice was thick, part sob and part laugh. “But I couldn’t risk being revealed as cabyll. Oh, God, I’m such a coward.”

  “It’s all right,” said Arabella firmly. “You did what you had to at the time. But, my dear, that time is over.”

  Petra shook and sniffled, but finally nodded her head.

  So Petra wasn’t the tough gal she tried to be. Poor thing, to be so afraid . . . but the woman in the river, forcibly changed and killed, had been just as frightened. If Petra had been less of a coward, she’d have helped her escape the stable.

  She sent her a glare, but Petra wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Laine jumped as she heard something move along the path from the inn to the stables. Footsteps, and the crackling and whisper of the agitated branches and flowers that were doing their strange moonlit dance.

  Laine heard a muffled curse and shrank closer to an unperturbed Arren.

  “Awful plants! Why these aren’t pruned back I’ll never know!” Following this exasperated mutter appeared the old lady Laine had first seen on the inn’s stairs. She was stumping her way down the path, whacking her cane at the branches. Tonight she was dressed in a velour jogging suit and sturdy walking shoes, and her bushy gray hair was tied up in a scarf. Her eyes were bright and piercing. And accusatory. She drew up in front of them. “What are you all doing here? I waited and waited in the lounge for you—” she stabbed a finger directly at Arabella Griffin “—to come fill me in on what everyone’s talking about!”

  Arabella looked mildly chagrined. “Oh. Sorry. But since you’re here now . . . ”

  “Well then? Start talking!”

  “Where to begin . . . hmm. Well, as you have noticed, these two are together.” She nodded at Laine and Arren.

  The old lady cast her eye on them, and Laine fought an urge to curtsey. Arren coolly smiled, looking smug.

  She looked down her long nose at them. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” cried Petra, wiping her nose. She waved her arms. “Carlotta Cardew, may I bloody well present Laine something or other. You’ve already met Arren, remember? Christ, you people are insane.”

  “Er, pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cardew.” Things were getting more surreal by the moment. “I’m Laine Summerhill.”

  “Oh, do please call me Lottie.” Now that the formalities had been observed, she grinned at Laine as if they were schoolgirls and glanced around. “Now where in hell is Tommy? Tommy!” she bellowed.

  Petra rolled her eyes at Arabella and vanished into the stable. Arabella said, “Poor Petra. I hope she can come to terms with what she is.”

  Arren said, “I just hope she knows which side she’s on.”

  More motion and crunching in the bushes. “Aunt Lottie—it’s black as Newgate’s knocker on this path! Hasn’t anyone heard of those nice solar-powered lights?” Tommy burst through the thrashing branches to stand smiling and disheveled before them. “Ah! Gang’s all here.”

  He was balding, chubby around the middle, and dressed in a khaki outfit similar to the one Laine had seen him in on her first day. The hiker, but without his companion.

  “Where’s Margaret?” asked Arabella. “You two are usually joined at the hip.”

  Tommy rolled his eyes. “Took off this morning, didn’t she tell you? That cricket match up in Manchester that some of her students are in. I’m terribly glad she didn’t drag me along.” His voice was a sweet tenor, and his cheeks were smooth and soft.

  Laine smiled determinedly at him. “Hello.” Was he a cabyll ushtey too?

  Tommy winked at her cheerily.

  “My nephew, Thomas,” stated Lottie.

  “Um, hi. Pleased to—”

  “Enough!” snapped Arabella. “Everyone, Laine knows the score, up to a point. But,” and here she glared impatiently at Arren, “she needs to know more.”

  “Yes,” Laine said, fervently. “I definitely need to know more.”

  Arabella’s right, thought Arren. It was time to make a plan, and Laine Summerhill had to be part of it. She was Jaird’s offspring.

  But he couldn’t reveal her connection to Fallon right here, among this insular group of tame cabyll. No, he corrected, not tame. Tame implied docile and weak, and they were hardly that. Civilized was the word. Jaird was the wild one, the barbarian whom Arren was convinced was the killer. He had killed before and he’d do it again.

  He took Laine’s hand firmly in his own. “Laine and I are going for a walk. That okay with you, Laine?”

  She nodded, her fingers twining into his. Her eyes were wide and held a glitter of excitement. Her sexual pull was powerful, but he had to keep his mind on business. They left Arabella, Lottie and Tommy and headed toward the river.

  “Arren, I don’t think being near water right now is a good idea.”

  “We won’t go in.”

  “My mother—” She snapped her mouth shut.

  “Your mother?”

  They were on the muddy bank of the River Syn, where it looped lazily around the inn’s back acreage. Weeds grew high but weren’t bothering them, and Arren could hear the creak of insects and a few plops as frogs leapt into the black water. The evening seemed peaceful, yet the same water flowed past where the dead woman had washed ashore. Her identity had not yet been discovered.

  “Yeah. Mom. Bethea. She warned me on the phone about water. She was insistent that I not go near it.”

  “And you’re frightened.”

  As he had anticipated, Laine immediately bristled. “I am not frightened. More like curious. Besides, I don’t know what the problem is—I was in the water this morning and nothing much happened.”

  “Nothing much? Felt sick, maybe? Dizzy or disoriented?” She nodded reluctantly. “But you were alone, and it was daylight.”

  “So nothing happened . . . and now, with the moon up there and you skulking along beside me, you want me to believe it’s okay?”

  “Oh, definitely not okay.” He pulled her closer, and they strolled in the bright moonlight to the very edge of the water. He could feel her tension. And no wonder—the strength of water connected river to river in a network to the ocean, like the nervous system of a vast body. These were the rivers up which the cabyll ushtey had migrated, millennia ago. How often had he stood by this river or others, staring into the mesmerizing flow, and held himself back by sheer force of will? It was a kind of perversion, to flirt with temptation and hope to remain human.

  Arren dropped a light kiss on Laine’s forehead. “It’s all right. The water can’t jump up and suck you in, you know.” But it could be very persuasive. “Look over there,” he said, pointing out over the water. “See that mist rising?”

  “Yes. It’s beautiful. Sort of ghostly. And unless my eyes have gone bad, it’s coiling up and heading this way.”

  “Your eyes aren’t bad. In fact, your eyes are rather nice.” He couldn’t resist planting another kiss, this time in the spot behind her ear where he’d tested her sweat. No flinching t
his time; good. The memory of her taste on his tongue aroused pure lust. He could see down her shirt to the shadowed cleft between her breasts.

  A few more kisses wouldn’t hurt . . .

  But something cold touched his arm and began to creep around him. So soon . . . it must be Laine doing it, as well as him. She was ripe with magic. And she felt the mist too. She twitched like a horse bitten by a fly and watched the cold, tenuous fingers sliding along her bare skin. He could feel her heart pound as they clung together.

  He pulled her back from the water. The chilly tendrils let go of them, but he could see the start of a rivulet of water heading their way from the main flow of the river. Soon the strange phantom water would find them, and if it touched them . . . well, he didn’t exactly know what would happen. He didn’t want to find out.

  They retreated to the short-cropped grass of the pasture. Fortunately the grass and weeds farther away from the inn were not as alert and eager to defend. He and Laine wouldn’t risk cuts or burns here.

  “You saw it,” Arren said. “The way the mist comes for you.”

  Laine nodded and put her hands on his chest, then ran them around his waist and down to cup his buttocks. Then she squeezed. Arren forgot what he was going to say.

  “Yes, I saw it. I’ve seen it before.”

  He’d been about to kiss her properly this time. She’d seen it before? He took a breath and, very reluctantly, pulled away from her. “Most people can’t see what’s truly going on. They’d walk along here, observe the mist rising, and nothing out of the ordinary would happen. It wouldn’t be interested in them. But you . . . ”

  She lost her maddeningly enticing look and became serious. “What about me?”

  “It wants you.” Laine could sense the magic all around her, and it recognized her, but she had no idea how to use or control it. If she were to be taken without warning, changed for the first time violently, against her will . . . “You’re calling it to you.”

  “Because I have cabyll blood in my veins? That mist was paying attention to you too, Mr. Tyrell.”

  He felt his heart sink toward his stomach. He was going to have to tell her. Warn her.

  What sane person would want to risk association with such as he? Or risk becoming one?

  “Laine . . . there’s something I have to tell you.” Did he look as hangdog as he felt? He hoped not. A horny idiot with a secret shame. Very attractive.

  “What?” she said. “Are you married? I’m pretty sure you’re not gay.”

  “No, not gay and not married. It’s just that . . . ” Spit it out, damn it. “I think I’m cabyll ushtey myself. Fairly positive, actually.” How ridiculous, a cabyll in denial.

  She immediately drew back, whether in repulsion or just to scowl at him he wasn’t sure. “What? But you hate them! What makes you think you’re one of them?”

  “Things I’ve done, feelings I have at certain times.”

  “Feelings? What kind of feelings?”

  How could he possibly explain it? Could he liken it to an alcoholic craving a drink, or an addict constantly dreaming of his fix? He’d told her that a cabyll who did not change risked madness; well, perhaps it was already too late for him.

  She reached for his hands. “Arren, it’s no big surprise, once I think about it. I kept trying to convince myself you couldn’t be one, you hated them so. But you don’t hate Arabella. Nor the others around here. The whole place is crawling with shapeshifters, but they’re all so nice.”

  “Nice!” He snorted a laugh. “If all cabyll were like them, there would be no problem at all. But—”

  “But there’s a rogue among them.”

  “Yes. And I don’t want to become like him.”

  An understatement. Her hands were so warm, her pulse so steady. Could she possibly understand how serious he was? Just what sort of threat he might become should he submit to his compulsion? She looked up at him, her eyes full of concern, and said, “Arren, you can tell me anything. After what I’ve seen today, nothing will scare me.”

  Two long, trilling notes made both of them jump. If sarcasm could be put into a wolf whistle, this was it. There was someone in the trees, watching them. Arren gleaned from a subtle scent what he already intuited. Innis. The damned boy was spying on them. Either that or he had an appalling sense of timing.

  “Who’s there?” cried Laine. “Innis, is that you? I recognize that stupid whistle of yours.”

  The boy appeared, his usual smirk distorting his face. “Have you two considered getting a room?”

  “Leave us alone!” Laine’s hand was still in Arren’s, and he did not intend to let it go. He was about to lead her away, ignoring the rude whelp, when he sensed something else.

  Laine’s head turned the same time his did, toward a pale shadow appearing from the trees, a small sinuous ghost floating toward them. As it grew closer, he could hear the light tread of hooves. Very tiny hooves.

  It was Arabella Griffin, had to be. My God, she was a lovely little thing. He’d never seen her out of her mundane form, but he knew what she was. The tiny horse stopped before them, tossing her head.

  Arren heard Laine gasp, and looked down at her. Her face held no shock or fear—in fact, she looked absolutely delighted. Something inside him relaxed.

  “But—you’re beautiful!” Laine exclaimed. “Are you really . . . Arabella?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Arabella laughed. “Yes, dearie, it’s me.” She did a quick pirouette on her hind legs, dancing backwards when Laine instinctively reached out to stroke her tawny hide. “Mustn’t touch. Dangerous.”

  Arabella wasn’t anything like the fat, shaggy pony she’d been in sunlight or the artificial light of the stable. The weirdest thing about it was witnessing a pony talk. Her soft, flexible lips barely moved, yet Laine could understand her clearly. Having suffered through low-budget horror films starring werewolves and other talking animals, Laine might have expected to find it ridiculous.

  It wasn’t. It was marvelous.

  She realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it and decided to keep it that way, and merely observe an actual cabyll ushtey who wasn’t trying to scare her shitless.

  Arabella gleamed under the moonlight as if she were fashioned of shot silk. Her small body was a golden russet, her mane and tail white as snow. So different from Jaird’s wicked black bulk, she was ethereal, delicate. Laine feasted her eyes on Arabella’s horse persona as she had been terrified to do with Jaird.

  Besides being absolutely lovely, she looked . . . odd. Elongated somehow, her muscles and bones joined in ways Laine couldn’t define. Her eyes were human-blue, direct and full of intelligence. When she laughed, as she did at Laine’s gawking, her open mouth revealed teeth smaller than a true horse’s.

  Except for the canines.

  Arabella’s canine teeth were long and sharp as a wolf’s.

  A vegetarian diet sustains us . . . so Jaird Fallon had pompously declared. They might not need it, but maybe it was flesh they craved. Or perhaps it was a lie. Her desire to stroke the pony’s silken hide waned. She could picture Arabella whipping her head around to bite her hand off.

  Arabella laughed and tossed her head. “Don’t worry, love. I won’t hurt you.”

  No, Arabella wouldn’t. But Jaird Fallon could have ripped her to pieces in the forest.

  She jumped as two humans appeared out of the gloom, but it was only Carlotta and Tommy Cardew, strolling arm-in-arm down the slope.

  Of course—they were cabyll too. She realized that she’d seen them before as horses, in the paddock, calmly chewing hay and flicking away flies with their tails.

  Laine wrapped her arms around her shoulders and held herself tight, feeling her rational mind recede into one small, primitive fear: she was surrounded by impossible creatures who could kill her in an instant, no matter how friendly they might appear. Even Arren.

  But Carlotta and Tommy showed no signs of changing. She began to breathe again.

  C
arlotta said, “I trust you two have used your time wisely?”

  Arren said, “I’ve told her . . . about myself, if that’s what you mean—”

  Innis, who had been watching all this, broke in. He curled his lip. “He won’t like this at all. You all know that, don’t you?” He looked around at them, scorn on his face. Of course, realized Laine, he was Jaird.

  “Another stallion in his territory. What do you suppose he’ll do?” Innis walked up and poked Arren in the chest. “Eh?” Arren growled but did not retaliate. Innis turned to Lottie and Tommy. “Do you old dears think you can change anything?”

  Arabella’s ears went back, and she bared her teeth. “Watch your manners, boy.”

  Innis chuckled deep in his throat. “Or what? I’ll do as I please.”

  Laine cried, “Innis, shut up.” Innis ignored her. What was wrong with him? Arren’s hand on hers gripped harder in warning. He was trying to stay between her and Innis.

  Arren watched Innis, who was circling restlessly and eyeing his sister.

  Arren grabbed her around the shoulders and thrust her behind him. “Laine—don’t go near Innis, no matter what happens. Do you understand? He’s going to—”

  “What?” Laine looked past Arren at Innis. “What’s happening?” Then her mouth snapped shut and she stood perfectly still.

  Her brother had started to change. His feet were swirled in mist, which rose quickly to shroud his legs. She saw him bend and strip out of his clothes, saw him stand naked for a moment in the pale light. Then, with a lunge as if he were pouncing on something, he dropped to all fours and rolled, his compact form supple and quick on the thick grass. Laine saw the taller stems and weeds sway back and bend for him, the moonlight striping his skin with black and gold. Then it was skin no more: it was smooth velvety hide reflecting a dull gold sheen, with chocolate shadows where his rearranged muscles flexed.

  His wavy blond hair grew and coiled down his neck. From his back, where a human’s vestigial tailbone would be, sprang a tail whose individual hairs had lives of their own. Each golden thread ended in a trail of mist that joined the river’s tendrils and flew around him as he rolled again and leapt to all four feet.