by K. V. Wilson
Margo had also contacted her father – my great uncle – Mr. Adolphus. He’s currently in Alberta, making arrangements to fly his Sheep River Clan to England.
Some of the Lycans were instructed to bring along pet-carriers. In each is a Yeva’si disguised as a small dog. The rest of the shapeshifters had Shifted into insects and crawled inside the cages. I only assumed that the dog would then Shift into something of equal size so he would not inadvertently squash the bugs during turbulence. The thought amuses me in a sickening kind of way. But then again, one’s sense of humour is never the same after glimpsing the pale face of death.
The Ravens were extensively loyal to Xunnu and had wanted to join him, as were the Eagles towards Litu. Many members of the other tribes had come as well. I’d been looking out for Xáan – Xunnu’s little brother and the shapeshifter who’d deemed me responsible for his father’s death – but to my knowledge, he hadn’t come.
“Thirteen? Skye?” David asks, eyes darting from Conall to the little dragonfly on the young man’s shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your manners are improving, son,” David comments, earning him a smirk from the Lycan. “Take care of my niece.”
Conall nods in response, glancing my way. My heart surges and I wish I could see the blue of his irises instead of the chaotic colours and textures that sift through these compound eyes. But the sensation of his spirit is sufficient; I feel a surge of emotion as if he’s determined to protect me. And I know he is.
The twelve of us gather together, the Lycans taking seats and speaking nervously to one another. We’re trying not to arouse too much suspicion, but it’s kind of hard to do so when you’re booking this many flights within hours of each other. Margo and Jen may already have landed in England, along with their group of shapeshifters and Lycan recruits.
Conall clears his throat and I glance up at him. He jerks his head towards the open backpack at his feet. With a start, I remember that I should be getting into position alongside Xera and Litu.
Focus, Skye. Stay alert. There could be Covenant soldiers in this very airport.
After determining that the coast is clear, I glide into the pack. Before touchdown, I Shift to mouse form and land with a soft “oof”. It comes out as a squeak and I glance up at Conall, eyes wide.
Xera and Litu are already snuggled up in the soft blankets that the Lycan had generously placed in the bag for us. They nod at me and I return the gesture before bunching up the blanket into a sort of nest. This will be my home for the next few hours. It’s going to be a long flight.
23
CHARM
Aelshen
“Well, here we are.”
I pat Ramsey on the thick o’ his neck afore swinging a leg o’er the great dragon’s back and landing gracefully upon the cool earth. I’m still barefoot – me shoes are burnt shells in the ruins of Elspeth and Ramsey’s quaint little cottage. What’s left of it, rather.
MacLarty groans, sliding across Elspeth’s scales. “Finally. My arse hurts like a…whoa!” The young Lycan stumbles as the she-dragon Shifts prematurely.
“Won’t ye just shut yer geggy, dog?” Elspeth spits. “An’ I thought Mac Tíre was bad enough.” She sighs as she stretches her saggy arms above her thick head. “Ye haven’t left us one moment of serenity since we set off!”
MacLarty, however, doesn’t seem to be bothered by the great beast’s remarks. He runs a hand over tired eyes, sinking onto the mud below. “Can I stay here?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Can ye...? Why would ye want to stay here? They’re your relations, lad. It’d be awkward if ye didn’t show!”
“C’mon, Ace.” Flint sighs. “We don’t have all night.”
“Lad’s right.” I flick my head towards the great lights of Edinburgh. “We didn’t fly all night fer nothin’. Let’s get in and out afore dawn. Round up some recruits and get ‘em back to the Lìog Airgid sooner’n the Covenant can blink an eye.”
MacLarty snorts. “Even if they agree, how do we get them there? Not on dragon-back; there are only three of you lizards. Not by plane or train, either.”
“Why not?” I ask matter-of-factly. “Todd’s given us the funds for it. We need only access them.”
Flint strokes his chin in thought. “True. Skye’s dad told Xunnu and David that if they found any recruits in Canada, to send ‘em over ASAP. Even if they didn’t have passports, the Silver League would take care of it for them.”
“Yeah, like the passport they forged for Thirteen.” MacLarty snickers. “I’m beginning to like Todd already.”
I grunt. “That’s Alpha to ye, lad. Or Mister Matthews.”
“Aye aye, Mister Mac Tíre. Father of the Lycans, Son of the Land, Guardian of the Great Heathens—”
“That’s Great Heath.” I roll me eyes. “Though I do suppose the former fits too. An’ I ain’t no alpha, so nix the titles. Call me Aelshen, lads. Aelshen is just fine.”
Elspeth lets out a deafening groan, cuttin’ our conversation short. “Ah! All of ye are drivin’ me bonkers. Let’s get this over with.”
“The she-dragon’s right.” I hand the old woman a change of clothing from me backpack. She snatches it away, giving me a dirty look. I chuckle, instead turning to her husband. “Thoughts, Ramsey? Ready to find more Lycans fer the cause?”
“Aye, Mac Tíre. Lead the way. These bones may be old, but they’ve got some bite left in ‘em.”
“I don’t doubt that.” I grin, scratchin’ me beard. Not half as much bite as Elspeth’s old bones, mind ye.
It’s been donkey’s years since I’d last set foot in Edinburgh. It’s far bigger, far louder, and far brighter than it’s ever been, an’ trust me, I was there to witness its beginning.
Me senses are slowly but surely coming back. Me night vision has returned an’ I’ve healed fully from the injuries those bloody Knights of Saint Patty had inflicted on me.
Even in the wee hours of the mornin’, I can see that Edinburgh’s got the look of one of them fancy casinos or somethin’. All flash and no cash. What I mean to say is, MacLarty’s part o’ town – that which the Lycans live in – ain’t got nothing going for it. These buildings have seen better days; they sag and tilt like drunken tourists.
“I’m glad Elspeth has finally shut up. Don’t think I could take any more of her incessant growlin’,” I hiss to Flint, glancin’ left and right as the lads and I make our way through the busy city streets. The she-dragon and her husband follow behind a ways.
We’d stopped at a small town along the way an’ picked up some replacement shoes and clothing with the spare bit o’ cash Ramsey had snatched in our hasty escape.
“Yeah, it’s almost as bad as your jokes,” MacLarty mutters, grabbing hold of a signpost and swinging ‘round it.
I glare at the Lycan. “I didn’t live millennia to be told off by some spoiled son of a deposed beta.”
Flint sighs. “Mac Tíre. Who knows what Ace’s family would do to you if you keep insulting him like that?”
The lad does have a point; I’d be dead meat.
MacLarty halts, obeying the street sign he’s still gripping. “Actually, they’d probably go along with it. Damian and I…we’re Duncan’s property. Bought and paid for with the divorce. My mother’s side of the family has nothing.”
I stare at the Lycan in bewilderment. “Ye mean…?”
“I haven’t seen these people in years, Mac Tíre.” MacLarty stares at the ground, lettin’ the dark hair fall across his eyes. Maybe he’s tearin’ up and doesn’t want me to see. “Pretty sure they bloody well hate me. I’ll be lucky if I get out without a scratch, let alone recruit them for a war.”
“Not to worry, Ace me boy. If there’s anything that can get ye through life, it’s charm.”
Flint snickers, sarcasm flooding into his voice. “Charm? Ace doesn’t—”
“I meant mine.” I grin, pullin’ a piece of hay out of me beard from last night in that damned barn.
&n
bsp; It seems nothing is going to make me forget that night. Especially with the constant threat of the Knights who can take away me powers with the simple thrust of a weapon. ‘Tis worse than death, in some cases. Being an avatar of an ancient nature spirit, I’ve learnt not to fear death. But weakness, however, is somethin’ we all fear…
MacLarty swallows. “Here goes nothing. I just hope my mom’s still living in the same townhouse, Mac Tíre. And even if she is, I’m not sure your charm is gonna do a helluva lot on her.”
I half-expected him to say somethin’ about that damned cereal leprechaun and his ‘lucky charms’ or whatnot. But the lad must be down further’n I thought.
24
LYCANS OF EDINBURGH
Aelshen
Well, the good news is MacLarty’s family does live in the same townhouse. The bad news is that he was flippin’ right about their feelings towards the lad.
“Duncan! Or are you Damian? Your hair!”
The woman at the door grows speechless. She stares in disgust at MacLarty’s dyed locks, reaching up to adjust her own messy bun of auburn hair. It matches the shade of her son’s roots. She wears an oversize orange robe over her coral nightgown. I force meself to glance back up at her face, noting that the woman has the same eyes as her twin sons’. They shine a bright shade of blue: confident and somewhat cold.
“And ye’ve pierced yer lip too! What has your father done to ye? Why are you ‘ere? And at two in the bloody morning!”
“Hi mum,” MacLarty mumbles. “Um, long time, no see.”
“Ye’ve got that right! I don’t want ye here, Duncan. Not with him anywhere near!” She peers past her son, likely making sure her ex-husband is absent. She pays no heed to Flint an’ me.
“Sorry it’s so late, but this is important. And I don’t go by Duncan anymore. It’s Ace.”
Mrs. MacLarty snorts. I raise my eyebrows at how similar these two are, despite not havin’ seen each other fer years. I also s’pose I shouldn’t be callin’ her Mrs. MacLarty, considerin’ she’s been divorced from ol’ Duncan Senior.
“May we come in?”
“May you?” Ace’s mother bites her lip, narrowing her eyes. “When did you get so polite?”
“He’s still not—” Flint attempts but I elbow him in the stomach. He gives me a dirty look and I award him a warning glance in return.
“Um. I grew up, I guess?” MacLarty scratches his head. His mother looks him up and down, but her eyes do not betray any sign of love. Instead, they’re filled with sadness and hatred as if she’s comparing him in every way to his father.
“Let us in, dog! We’re gettin’ chilly out here!” Elspeth growls. I wince as I realize that she an’ Ramsey have finally caught up with us.
Ace’s mother finally seems to notice her son isn’t alone at the door; she gives the rest of us a sweeping glance.
“Where’s yer father?” She almost spits out the word, an’ I don’t blame her. Marrying oneself to Duncan MacLarty would be a surefire way to end said marriage. “And where’s—?”
“Damian’s not here. Dad’s not, either. Still in London.” The young man sighs. “These are my friends.” MacLarty stumbles on the word as if he’s never said it before. “A Lycan and three…dragons.”
The woman at the door nods, staring over our shoulders at Elspeth. “That explains it. Ye’d better come inside.”
“Much obliged, madam,” I mumble as I step o’er the threshold after MacLarty. The three dragons follow, wipin’ their muddy shoes on the doormat.
“So.” Ace’s mother rounds on us before we’ve even gotten past the foyer. “Who are you people and why are you here with my son? Why is my son even here?”
“Allow me,” I begin, running a hand through me thinning hair. “My name is Mac Tíre.”
“Mac…? Ye don’t mean…?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, I—”
“Bryce, get in here!” she calls out, peering around the corner of a nearby hallway.
“What is it?” comes a faraway reply. I notice a distinct English accent.
“It’s the Guardian! And,” she lowers her voice to a whisper, eyebrows knitted together as she turns back towards us, “my son is back.”
After a few seconds of pounding footsteps on the hardwood, a bearded face appears and its respective body emerges. Bryce wears pyjamas with some kind of tartan motif on them, and he hastily pulls on a burgundy vest – don’t ask how I know the name o’ that colour, mind ye. A pair of wire hipster-style glasses completes the look.
“Hey! Oh…hi. Emily, who are these people?” Bryce glances around the room, scratching at his sideburns absentmindedly.
“This one,” Emily says softly, pointing a finger at MacLarty, “is my son. Duncan.”
“Ace,” the young Lycan whispers, but I can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. It’s an uncomfortable smile, but a smile nonetheless.
“This,” Emily continues, eyes flashing, “is Mac Tíre. And these are his companions. Ddreigiau.”
“Dra…dra…” Bryce stutters.
“Dragons,” MacLarty finishes for him. “This is Greg Flint,” he says, gesturing towards Nwyfre’s descendant.
Ramsey takes a step forward, reachin’ out a hand towards the Lycans. “And we’re Ramsey and Elspeth Andarsen.”
“Nice to meet you, Ddraig.” Bryce extends his own hand, usin’ the Welsh word for ‘dragon’ in greeting. I suspect there’s a wide grin beneath that beard o’ his. “I’ve never met dragons before.”
Ramsey chuckles. “Pleasure. And I’ll bet ye’ve never had two o’ the Spiritborne in yer house before, either.”
“Two?” Bryce stares at me fer a moment, eyes wide in disbelief, and then turns back towards Ramsey. It takes him a few seconds to notice that he’s still kept hold of the dragon’s hand. He lets it go, swallowing as his cheeks take on a deep pink hue.
“Aelshen Mac Tíre.” I dip my head at the hesitant Lycan, taking his small hand in both of mine and shakin’ it a wee bit too roughly. “An’ as fer the second Spiritborne, Ramsey doesn’t really mean that. Gregory isn’t Spiritborne himself, but he is the descendant of Nwyfre.” I grin at the young Ddraig and he smiles uncomfortably at the two Lycans.
“Seriously?” Emily narrows her eyes once again. “Ye left me for three years, Duncan, and you come back ‘cause ye finally need my help fer something. That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? That’s why these important people are sitting here in me living room!”
“Well,” MacLarty mumbles.
I clear my throat. “That’s the main reason. But MacLa— Ace…would have returned sooner than now, if only he could—”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Emily rolls her eyes. “If only he could.”
A faint chuckle ensues from the left, and I sneak a glance to see Elspeth sinking into a nearby armchair.
“Heh. Mac Tíre makin’ a fool of himself again,” she mutters to herself. “Blasted idiot.”
The she-dragon clasps her hands together, not botherin’ to fix the glasses that have fallen askew upon her toad-like face. I blink a few times to get the image of that face out o’ me mind.
“Mum,” Ace says uncertainly, “we need your help – that’s true – but I want you to know that I’ve missed you. Damian’s missed you.”
“I don’t care,” Emily sighs. She looks very tired all of a sudden. Bryce places a hand on her shoulder and I wince, expecting her to slap his arm away, but she instead leans into his touch. “I…you two look just like him. Always have, always will. I’ll never get rid of the image.”
“I’m not my dad. He’s…well, he’s a right bigot is what he is.”
Emily forces a smile. “Thanks, Duncan. I needed to hear that from you.”
“You can call me Ace, mum. It’ll help too, I’m sure.”
She snorts, taking a step towards her son. “Ace. What kind o’ name is that?”
I let out a chuckle. “If ye can believe it, this boy was top in his class.”
Emily g
ives me a sideways glance, her mouth drawing into a thin line. “Now yer just messing with me, Guardian. This boy?”
“The very same. Smart kid. Dresses a bit strange, mind ye.”
Ace’s mom draws her son into a tight hug and I stifle a laugh as his eyes bulge. He pats her awkwardly before she lets go. Her eyes are filled with tears.
“Where are my manners?” she says suddenly. “Would you like some coffee? Tea?”
“Tea’d be fine, madam...?” I leave the word hangin’, hoping she’ll tell me her last name. I don’t want to go callin’ her Emily ‘less she asks me to. Or – Guardian forbid – Mrs. MacLarty.
“Gunn. Emily Gunn.”
“My pleasure.”
Emily nods, disappearing into the kitchen. Bryce follows her. The rest of us stand awkwardly in the living room. Except fer Elspeth, o’course, who’s already made herself mightily comfortable in the armchair.
“Mac Tíre,” she sneers, “are ye going to send this house up in flames, too?”
“That” – I sigh deeply – “was you, my dear madam.”
The she-dragon’s eyes darken, blazing with inner fire. “Ye brought the damned soldiers there!”
“Elspeth!” Ramsey chides. “That was me that brought the soldiers to our doorstep! Quit bringing it up!”
“I ain’t bringing up nothin’ but a fine jet o’ fire fer this one here! He’d better watch his tongue or he’ll be gettin’ the worst of it!”
I frown at the old woman. Maybe it wasn’t just Ramsey I should’ve cured of dementia… I sink down onto the sectional, resolving to work me magic on the dragon the next time she falls asleep. But somethin’ tells me a brain like that’ll be hard to heal.
“Hey, Lycans!” Ramsey calls out. “If ye be needin’ a bit of spice, I’ve got—”
I jump out o’ me seat, blocking Ramsey’s path to the kitchen and eyeing the bottle in his hand. “No, no. That won’t be necessary, Ramsey. We don’t want to kill these people; we want ‘em to help us,” I explain gently.