“Who in hell are you people?” Birch whispered, feeling behind her for the table and plopping down in a chair. “Do any of you have even a sliver of conscience?”
She dropped her head into her hands on the table. “It’ll be okay. Emily will take care of Mimi. The poor dog might be confused when she doesn’t come home tonight, but no one’s going to cut off her toes.” She straightened and looked around. “Mom’s the one in real danger, so focus. Before you find those DVDs, you have to find a way to—” Birch snapped her mouth shut before finishing that sentence.
The Bastard obviously knew how to use technology; what if he’d had Francine hide electronic bugs throughout the house during her stay, and he could hear if she talked to anyone on some other phone? Birch got up and went to the counter and grabbed the house phone, hit the talk button and held it to her ear, but didn’t hear a dial tone. Of course Francine and Emily would have cut the line when they’d left last night, because they were freaking professionals.
Wait; she had eight other cell phones. Birch rushed to her office and started pushing boxes around until she found the one Olivia had brought with her the day the shelter had opened, containing everything on the list Birch had e-mailed her from Montreal after agreeing to take the job. Five cell phones had been on that list, and Olivia had given her freaking ten, all of them already activated.
Birch had given one to Macie and one to Cassandra—which they still had—but after an hour of lessons, Noreen had decided not to waste her time learning how to operate something she was certain was just a passing fad.
Birch pulled out one of the phones and turned it on, sighing in relief to see it was still fully charged. She walked over to her desk, took The Bastard’s phone out of her pocket, but stopped in the act of setting it down, her thumb lightly resting on the button that would wake it up. She took a slow, deliberate breath, pushed the button, then slid her thumb across the screen to unlock it.
Seven hours and twenty-three minutes.
She took an even slower breath to keep from screaming, set The Bastard’s phone on the desk and then ran out of the office—only to stop in the hall, not knowing where to run to. In the movies people who thought their houses were bugged usually went into the bathroom and turned on the shower to block out their voices. But if The Bastard was listening, wouldn’t he find it odd that she’d take a shower now?
She ran up the stairs and down the upstairs hall, shoved her shelter phone in her pocket, and lifted the large picture off the wall. She leaned it against the railing, pushed the small chest of drawers out of the way, and opened the well-disguised attic door. Quietly closing the door behind her, Birch carefully crept up the steep, creaky old stairs, but stopped when she reached the top and studied the floor. She stepped onto one of the old boards, stepped back, and saw her footprint in the dust. But there was only that one print, which meant The Bitch hadn’t searched the attic—likely only because she hadn’t spotted the door.
Birch pulled the phone out of her pocket as she walked toward the small round window, silently thanking her mom for suggesting they preprogram in several numbers for the residents; Hazel also volunteering to make the list and input the numbers for the shelter, as well as the Trading Post, Drunken Moose, and a few other places. Hazel had even asked Niall if she could add his personal cell number on the chance a resident was in immediate danger, and told Birch the man hadn’t even hesitated to give it to her.
Oh yeah; her mom was freaking fantastic when it came to details.
Birch sat down on the floor near the window but not close enough to be visible from outside, found Niall in the contacts, and tapped his number—nearly bursting into tears again when he answered with a strong, solid, “Chief MacKeage.”
“Niall, it’s me, Birch,” she said in a rasped whisper.
There was a heartbeat of silence. “What’s wrong?”
“Th-they took Mom. They ambushed us on the camp road on our way into town in the cart. A large silver SUV cut us off and three men jumped out and I sprayed one with my bear spray when he grabbed Mom but another one yanked me out of the cart and made me drop the spray and Mom was screaming and I couldn’t—”
“Birch,” Niall snapped, cutting her off. “Take a breath, lass,” he said quietly. “Where are ye now?”
“A-at the shelter.”
“Keep talking. I’m on my way.”
“No!” she cried. “No, you can’t come here,” she rushed on in a whisper. “They’re watching. Dozens of them, pretending to be tourists. And The Bastard said he’d know if I called or talked to anyone or went anyplace, and if I did that he . . . he’d kill Mom. And he’s going to cut off one of her fingers in eight hours, and another one every eight hours after that, until I find two DVDs Jacques Rabideu hid in our stuff.”
“How can he know if you call anyone?” Niall asked softly.
“He smashed my phone and gave me one of his so I can call him when I find the DVDs. He said he can even tell who I talk to and where they are. And Francine cut the house lines. She’s one of them. Mom and I were on our way to tell you that Francine and Emily left sometime in the night, and that they’d been searching the house since they came here.”
“Then how are ye talking to me now?”
“I have a bunch of cell phones to give out to the residents. Oh, God, I was going to give one to Francine today! She would have told The Bastard I have them.”
“Easy, lass. Ye didn’t give her one, so he doesn’t know.”
“I’m up in the attic because I’m afraid Francine might have put listening devices in the house.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do, Niall. If I find the DVDs and give them to him, he’s going to kill Mom anyway . . . and me.”
“Nay, I’m not going to let that happen, Birch.”
“He . . . he told me he cut out Jacques Rabideu’s heart. I only have about seven hours now. I need to start looking for those discs.”
“Did ye leave some of your belongings in Montreal? In storage?”
“He said they’re not there. Or in our house. He must have already searched them. What . . . what do I do? He’s got Mom.”
“You’re going to stay put and look for those discs,” Niall said calmly. “Let me think on this a bit, and then I’ll call and let ye know what’s going to happen. Keep this phone with you, but put it on vibrate on the chance they are listening to the house.” He hesitated, apparently thinking right now. “I’m going to send ye Shep. They’ve been in town for days checking us out, so they won’t think anything of seeing the dog hanging out in the yard. But don’t bring him inside; have him lay on the porch. Give him the command earalaich. Say, ‘Shep, guard,’ and then say, ‘Err-al-ech.’ Repeat it to me.”
“Err . . . err-al-ech. Oh, Niall, they took Mimi.”
“She was in the cart with you?”
“No. Francine drove the cart back here so no one would see it abandoned on the road. And she used the spare key I hid for the residents and let herself in and took Mimi. I . . . I think for Emily.”
“I’m sorry, Birch. When we catch them, there’s a good chance we’ll get Mimi back as well. I’ve changed my mind, then; bring Shep in the house with you. When he comes to the door, step out on the porch and make a big show of being excited to see him, then act as if you’re relieved not to be alone anymore and take him inside.”
Birch snorted. “I won’t be acting. Th-thank you.”
Niall went silent again, then said, “If Shep’s wearing his vest, leave it on him. The vest has a couple of small pockets, but don’t check them until after ye bring him inside. I need to think a bit first, but Shep might be a good way for me to get something to you.”
“O-okay. Um, Niall? When we were in the Vaughns’ basement, you said you grow quieter and slower in direct proportion to the urgency of the situation.”
“Aye,” he said, softly.
/> “Well, seeing how this is a really, really urgent situation, you won’t grow . . . ah, too slow thinking about what to do, will you?”
Birch held her breath when Niall went pretty damn quiet right now, and didn’t start breathing again until she heard a heavy sigh come over the phone. “I’ll try to hurry my thinking along.”
“Th-thank you. Oh, another thing; I think you should call my dad instead of me, because I might get . . . Well, I need to start looking for those discs. But he needs to know what’s going on, because if he keeps trying my phone and I don’t answer, he might come here to find out why. And you can’t call your officers or Sam or anyone else and have them suddenly come to the station, because The Bastard said he’ll kill Mom if he sees anything that even makes him feel uncomfortable. Wait; you said they’ve been checking us out for days. You knew these people were here?”
“I just found out this morning and have been trying to decide what to do before I said anything to you. Don’t worry, the Leopolds won’t see anything unusual happening. Did ye get the name of the man in charge of the ambush? Did any of the others call him by name?”
“No. So I’m just calling him The Bastard.”
There was a short silence. “Did he hurt ye, Birch?”
“N-not really. I got a small cut on my cheek when he . . . knocked me down.”
There was a slightly longer silence; Birch assumed he was trying to decide if he believed her or not. “I’m going to hang up and think about this,” he said quietly, “but I want ye to call me the moment ye find those DVDs. Oh, and, lass?” he added, his voice dropping a couple of notches.
“Y-yes?”
“There’s two more things ye should probably know about Scots; the first being we don’t like losing, so we don’t. I’ll get Hazel back within the next seven hours.”
Birch closed her eyes and dropped her head on a silent sigh, actually believing him. “And the other thing I should know?”
“Scots protect what’s ours. And ye may not have noticed, but almost from the day ye moved in next door, I’ve considered you mine.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Niall set the phone on his desk and lowered his head into his hands as he fought back an old and familiar anguish before it immobilized him, and once again found himself wondering why Titus had brought him here. Considering the elder theurgist had access to all knowledge throughout time, had he known this day would come? And was it possible that because he couldn’t interfere, Titus had decided two years ago to invite Niall to this century then suggested to Duncan he would make a good chief of police, simply so he would be here in Spellbound Falls on this particular day?
But sweet Christ, why him? There were any number of men living in this century who were unquestionably better prepared to deal with the Leopolds. A strong sword-arm was next to useless against technology. Hell, his sword had barely been effective against a bunch of brainless demons.
Many modern problems would benefit from an ancient perspective, Titus had said, which could make all the difference between success and failure.
And Niall had just told Birch he really didn’t care to be on the losing side, and promised he’d get Hazel back—within seven hours and possessing all her fingers. That was one hell of a boast from a man who couldn’t even keep a seventeen-year-old lass from sneaking off to a high mountain gleann to pick her wedding bouquet, and then fail to find her before she’d bled to death.
Niall remembered Nicholas saying Mac couldn’t make Duncan and Peg fall in love, but there hadn’t been anything stopping the wizard from devising a way to put two people he knew were destined to be together in each other’s path.
And Titus did seem unusually interested in Niall’s attraction to Miss Callahan.
Could Birch be his destiny? Would a powerful magic-maker manipulate time itself just to give an unimpressive mortal a second chance? Or could this be about Birch needing a second chance?
Did it really matter? Because for whatever reason, he was here.
And so were the Leopolds.
But unlike nine hundred years ago when he hadn’t even known Simone was in a life-and-death battle with a wild boar, modern technology not only made it possible for Birch to tell him she was in danger, it was also allowing them to stay in communication as they fought the enemy together.
And he now had weapons far more effective than swords.
Niall lifted his head and stared down at his phone, thinking of one precise and ruthless weapon in particular. Aye, maybe he should take advantage of that right of free will Titus and Mac were so determined to protect, and feel free to ask a modern god—who didn’t seem to have a problem getting personally involved—for help.
Well, provided he could find a way to contact the bastard.
Because even though, as Nicholas had pointed out, Telos would embrace the technology of his era, the forest god had yet to give anyone his phone number. And just like the Oceanuses, mankind’s newest magic-maker was likely walking around in human form, which meant Niall could have passed Telos on the sidewalk for all he knew. Hell, he may have even spoken to him.
For over a week now, he’d wondered how it was Telos happened to be on the bank of the river at the exact moment Birch was being forced off the road. Or how he’d known Foster Graves lay dying under his car, or that a forest fire had ignited twenty miles away. Hell, the bastard had even known a new entity intended to manifest that night on the island.
So why hadn’t Telos interceded when the Leopolds had taken Hazel? Did he only help when he was in a benevolent mood? Or only when it served his agenda?
Niall picked up the envelope Sam had brought this morning, opened the flap and tipped it on end, and dropped the ring the eagle had given Birch into the palm of his hand. He sighed, hoping Telos wasn’t going to be like the Oceanuses in one other regard, which was the habit of only giving obscure clues and talking around a subject instead of coming right out and saying what they meant.
Surely a powerful, modern god knew how to write; the bastard could at least have included a note with the ring instead of making them waste two days trying to—
Niall’s cell phone gave a chime indicating a text, and he set down the ring and picked up the phone, frowning when he didn’t see an ID displayed. He unlocked the screen, thinking it might be Birch, only to stiffen as he read the text.
Though technically correct, I don’t care for being referred to as a bastard.
Son of a bitch. The bas— Telos was texting him.
And as much as it pains me to admit, I find myself agreeing with the great Titus Oceanus . . . on this occasion. So having heard it said everyone needs a reason to get out of bed in the morning, I didn’t include a note because I felt you might as well earn the air you breathe by saving your Miss Callahan and Hazel yourself. And since protecting what’s yours appears to be a matter of personal pride, I also didn’t want to steal your thunder. But I wouldn’t mind tagging along for the ride, and maybe you’ll even be generous enough to let me lend a . . . human hand?
Son of a bitch! Niall tapped letters. You can goddamn read my thoughts?
Not exactly or completely. But just like your faithful first officer, I can choose to tune in to your energy—which at the moment is blasting off you like an erupting volcano. I’m sure you’ve noticed Shep’s mysterious habit of showing up whenever your mood darkens? Well, for reasons only he knows, the beast has chosen to link his energy to yours. Don’t worry, MacKeage; with only a little effort you can control when you want me to know your thoughts. Then again, this is the twenty-first century; you could always just shoot me a text. I don’t have an actual number, but you—and only you—will find me in your list of contacts.
Niall typed again. Where’s Hazel?
You’re really willing to risk angering Titus by ignoring the very thing he’s spent his entire existence protecting by asking me to directly intercede
in this matter?
Niall typed, Whatever it takes to get Hazel back.
Your heritage is showing, my friend. I’m sorry, but it appears I’m not willing to risk starting a mythical war—yet.
Niall glared at the screen, undecided if Telos merely got his jollies toying with mortals, or if something—or powerful someone—was making him keep his distance.
Not really caring since neither way was any help to him, Niall stood up and typed, Fuck off, you bastard, hit the send button, and shoved the phone in his pocket.
He walked onto the porch to wait for Shep, and stared out at Bottomless as he thought about the problem at hand—calmly, so he wouldn’t be broadcasting like an erupting volcano. Finally deciding on as much of a plan as he could without fully knowing his enemy, Niall took out his phone, opened the timer he’d set right after Birch’s call, and saw they were down to six hours and fifty-three minutes.
He closed the timer and called Sam. “Did ye once tell me there’s such a thing as an electronic tracking device,” he said without preamble when Sam answered, “that’s small enough to hide on a person . . . or a dog?”
“I must have,” Sam said, his voice alert. “Why?”
“Do ye happen to own one?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Why?”
“Can ye get it to me in the next . . . Fifteen minutes is all the time I can give ye.”
“Why?”
“The Leopolds have Hazel, and she’s going to start losing fingers in less than seven hours if Birch doesn’t find and turn over two DVDs to them. I’ll bring ye up to speed when you bring me the tracking device.”
“I’ll have it to you in five minutes.”
Niall lowered the phone, found Jake’s number, and called him. “Exactly how good are ye at blending in,” he asked when Jake answered, “in a town where you’ve been standing out for over a week now?”
The Highlander Next Door Page 30