by Amy Hoff
“Leah…” Dorian warned.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Leah, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Nour-el-ain watched them walk away down the alley.
“I hope we won’t need to see each other too soon, Leah Bishop,” Nour said, “I truly do.”
CHAPTER THREE
Leah was thrilled to get out into the countryside after so long in the city. Dorian was not similarly moved. The mountains hemmed them close as they travelled through the circuitous countryside, the roads wrapping around the lochs and mountains.
She looked around at the barren and desolate landscape, and thought of her university professors lecturing on the sublime. This was the concept of something beautiful and terrible, lovely and dangerous. The paintings by Landseer were considered sublime – gorgeous, and ominous.
Crunch.
Dorian looked at his partner.
Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch
“I say, Miss Bishop,” he said.
Leah froze, cheddar and onion crisps in her hand. She dropped them back into the bag.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, indicating the view out the window.
“If you like this sort of thing,” he replied.
“Aren’t your people from around here?” she said.
“If you mean the fae, some of them, yes,” he said, “Selkies originate further west. But you’ll find I have no love for my home either.”
“I don’t understand that,” said Leah, “it’s breathtaking.”
Dorian just stared out the window.
“What are we doing in the Highlands, Dorian? We are supposed to be watching Glasgow.”
“This is where the Council will hold Magnus’s trial,” said Dorian.
“What, all the way up here?” asked Leah.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s difficult to get the selk to leave Seal-Hame. This was considered a crime the selkies would need to bring to trial, so here we are.”
“You said you were afraid,” Leah said, “but I’ve never seen you scared of anything until we arrived in the Highlands. Is there something I don’t know?”
“The problem is that the Guardians are all that guards the city from the monsters and supernaturals who come down from the Highlands,” said Dorian, “and it is from that direction that we have the most to fear. We have always known this. Those who wanted to stay with the old ways stayed in the mountains. Those who wanted to move forward with the times moved to Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen – or even went over the seas, like other immigrants. The sun never set on the British Empire, and so many monsters moved away. This was in fact the start of the Interpol – not of the police, but of the international nature of the force. Much like your people now have world summits, diplomats, and expats – so does every nation of monster and mythological creature.”
“Is it difficult to get a monster passport?” asked Leah.
“About the same as it is to get a human one,” said Dorian, “but monsters don't care a fig about immigration. The world is ours. The entire world. It was ours before humans were here and will be ours after you go. We do not feel threatened by each other in the same way humans do – but we will stop our own from the wholesale harvest of human life.”
“Okay,” said Leah. “But you and Ben – you wanted me out of the city because you think I’m infected, right?”
Dorian pursed his lips.
“We don’t know for certain,” said Dorian. “I thought it prudent to get out out and away from the human population just in case.”
Leah examined her fingers, which were covered in crisp dust.
“They look okay to me,” she said.
“It can take time, Leah,” said Dorian sternly.
“Well, either way, it’s good to get out of the city,” she said. “It’s like a mini holiday!”
“Indeed,” said Dorian, but concern was written on his pale features.
The train stopped with a quiet sigh, that much louder because their destination was one of the most remote train stops in the Highlands. Humans weren’t aware of the reasons for the development and placement of Altnabreac Station, but the Fae knew all too well.
As they stood together on the platform, Leah watched the train go, and the desolate mountains seemed to crowd in on her and Dorian.
Dorian began to walk across the moor, silently, and Leah followed. The mist began to descend as they approached the mountains on the opposite side of the moor, and wrapped itself around them as they began to ascend. Leah began to lose sight of Dorian, as he picked his way up the mountain with an air of etiquette that felt out of place in this mountainous terrain. Soon, his black-clad back disappeared and she could see nothing more than mist.
"Dorian?" called Leah, quietly.
She stood on the side of the mountain, stock-still. The mist was a shawl around her shoulders, obscuring her view.
“If I don't end up getting eaten by a monster, I'm going to fall to my death,” she muttered, afraid to shout for Dorian in case it marked her location. Monsters in the quiet brooding Highlands, with its eerie silence, were a much different experience than when they made you coffee and asked about your day.
“Here,” murmured Dorian, briefly touching her; she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Dorian Grey!” she snarled, “Don't do that. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Look,” he said, nodding in the direction of the glen below.
Leah stared into the white and was about to ask him what he meant when the mist cleared enough for her to see strange shapes, weird creatures with long, bonelike arms.
Their greyish-white forms seemed as though they were part of the landscape, until she saw them walking.
“Those are the Attendants,” Dorian said. Leah looked at him, puzzled.
“The primary Guardian’s servants,” he explained, “They never leave Glasgow. Ever. They know better. Look what happened when Aonghas decided to have a few drinks in Dublin.”
“Maybe … it wasn't Aonghas's fault after all,” Leah whispered back. “What's going on here, Dorian?”
He shook his head.
“I really don't know,” he replied. “Every creature has their home-place. For me, and for Magnus, that's Islay, the land above Seal-Hame. For Aonghas, it's Glasgow, and was Glasgow back when it could accurately be called 'the dear green place'. We are not creatures that move.”
“And yet Yoo Min is here,” Leah said.
“The necessities of an international police force,” said Dorian.
She then stood up, and motioned for Dorian to follow. They wound their way down the mountain and into the darkness of the caves below.
***
Leah couldn't see. It was so dark in the cave that the only visible light was the small pinpoint from the entrance. She kept stumbling and swearing under her breath.
“Take this,” said Dorian's voice at her elbow, handing her one end of a rope.
“You mean you can see down here?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
He turned to her, and she wasn't as surprised as she once would have been to see that his eyes were a luminescent blue, like the phosphorescent waters in the southern oceans.
They continued into the blackness. Leah shut her eyes and opened them. It made no difference.
“You're lucky I trust you,” she said.
“You can buy me a fish when we're done,” Dorian's voice floated back to her from somewhere in the distance.
“Don't you vanish on me, Dorian Grey,” she said.
“Don't worry, Leah,” he said, his voice now near her elbow. “Come over here.”
He tugged on the rope and she followed. A dull light was visible and as her eyes adjusted she saw that they were on a ledge, overlooking a large interior room in the belly of the cave. Dorian lay flat on his stomach and indicated she do the same.
They looked down into the cavernous room. In the time it had taken them to reach this part of the cave, the Attendants had moved into the int
erior. Behind them, a beautiful waterfall cascaded down into the cave. Dorian shook his head. He stood up and backed away, and Leah stood to join him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I don't know what's going on here," he said, "but I think I know someone who might."
As the mist of the waterfall cleared, Leah saw the ugliest face she had ever encountered. It’s an urisk, said the educated part of her mind; run run run run, said her lizard brain. She had turned before realising what she was doing, when Dorian gripped her arm.
His hold on her was strong, like a steel vise.
She looked at his hand, and then at his pale, aristocratic features, as though she had never seen him before.
“Holy –” she began, but the creature was in front of them, and Dorian let her go. The encounter had been so brief, she could almost convince herself she’d imagined it.
Almost.
“Dorian!” the blue-grey thing was shouting, “Dorian Grey! I never thought I’d see you again!!!”
“My apologies in advance, Miss Bishop,” Dorian murmured, “he can be a bit…extreme.”
He turned his attention to the monster.
“Is it really you, Gregoire?”
The urisk, Gregoire was crying real tears, sobbing loudly, as he threw himself into Dorian’s arms, nearly knocking him over. Dorian gently extracted himself from Gregoire’s embrace, and turned his attention to Leah.
“May I present Detective Inspector Leah Bishop,” said Dorian.
Gregoire’s eyes went wide and shining with adoration.
“Is she…is she a human?” he asked breathlessly.
The edges of Dorian’s mouth quirked up in something like a smile.
“Yes,” he said.
Gregoire’s joy could not be contained. He bowed to the ground, and then enthusiastically shook Leah’s hand until it was almost about to fall off.
“Gregoire, Miss Bishop. I would be just absolutely delighted if you would join me for a cup of tea.”
Leah was lost for words.
From the side of his mouth, Gregoire asked Dorian, “Too much?”
Leah was startled by the interior of Gregoire’s cave. It looked exactly like her grandmother’s house would have, if she had been somewhat insane. Tartan tat everywhere, a fireplace with peat burning, terrible wallpaper with too many tiny deer on it – Leah had never been anywhere quite so Scottish. There were squares of tablet on the table, with biscuits, next to little embroidered stitchings of Scottie dogs.
The monster had a tea cosy.
“Sit down here, my lady,” said Gregoire, “This is a soft seat I bought especially for humans! It is very soft and comfortable; the shopkeeper assured me that humans really enjoy these seats.”
Leah looked doubtfully at the La-Z-Boy, but sat down anyway. This brought a fresh flood of tears from Gregoire and a beatific expression of joy she could not help but smile at. He pushed a cup of tea into her hands and then sat directly in front of her, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, staring at her and sighing.
Leah turned towards Dorian to improve the view.
“Gregoire is an urisk,” said Dorian, grinning, “I have known him for centuries.”
“Yes, Dorian,” Gregoire said gently, “why have you stayed away for so long?”
“I was Taken,” said Dorian, “and then, I thought you were dead.”
“Ah, true,” said Gregoire, “there were those reports – what a time that was! What a warrior you were. Love seems to suit you well. Congratulations on being Taken, I did not know.”
“Thank you,” said Dorian.
“Dorian,” said Leah, and Gregoire turned attentively to her again, “shouldn't you tell him that she –”
“Oh, of course she must have passed on by now,” said Gregoire, hand-waving it away, “but as you know, the great Shakespeare said – better to have loved and lost.”
“Not sure I agree,” said Leah into her teacup.
“Dorian, is this human unhappy?!” demanded Gregoire, “Is it heartbroken?”
“I like to think we're fixing that,” said Dorian.
“Poor human!!” cried Gregoire, who suddenly scooped Leah up and cuddled her, “You are always welcome here!”
“Leah is a she,” said Dorian, “and a Detective Inspector, you ought to put her down. She bites.”
Gregoire looked down at the woman he had crushed in his arms. He released her into the chair.
“Oh, I am sorry,” said Gregoire, “we get so few humans here, my lady.”
Dorian was clearly amused by their interactions, as Gregoire stared adoringly at Leah. Leah cleared her throat.
“Dorian, can I have a word?” she said. Dorian nodded.
She led him outside, where the night had fallen soft and warm on the shoulders of the mountains.
They stood by the waterfall, where the noise of the water plunging into the stream below would cover their words.
“Explain,” she said, arms crossed.
Dorian nodded and smiled.
“I am sorry, Leah,” he said. “It's been a long time since I've seen him, and he does so love humans.”
“The urisks are waterfall guardians, right?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Dorian, “and they absolutely worship and adore humans. Unfortunately, I think only the Nuckelavee rival them in ugliness. The people of the Highlands learned very quickly to run from anything that seemed supernatural – fair or foul. The urisk is not only a guardian of the waterfall, he is also the most faithful soldier the human side could possibly have. This is a problem, because while any urisk will run toward a human in delight, humans will always run away from them. Therefore, many of them are extremely lonely, always hoping to meet humans and never getting the chance. Gregoire and I are friends from a long time back. I think he likes selkies because we are as close to being human as supernaturals can get.”
“Yes, he mentioned that you knew each other 'back then',” said Leah, “Back when?”
“I think we met centuries before,” said Dorian, “but he is referring to the Fae Wars.”
“The what?” asked Leah.
Dorian leaned against the rocks.
“You remember when Chief Ben told you that even faeries have drug problems?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Those are leftovers from the Fae Wars,” he said, “Centuries ago, a drug was discovered that worked on all the Fae. It made them feel mortal – the same way that some of your drugs make users feel immortal. Eventually we found out that it was highly addictive, and fatal.”
“You never mentioned this before,” said Leah.
“It's ancient history,” said Dorian, “fun for reminiscing, but not something we would like to see again.”
“What happened?” asked Leah.
“It turned out that the drug had an unexpected side effect,” said Dorian. “Humans died very quickly from exposure to it, in a way that mimics the Black Plague. There were factions of the Fae that wanted to continue using, and other factions that felt it was irresponsible for Fae and human alike. We are complementary creatures in many ways – if the human race died off there would no longer be food for vampires, or humans for the seal-people to love. The war lasted for an age, and we didn’t think it would ever end.”
“But it’s over now?” asked Leah.
“Yes,” Dorian replied, “Caledonia Interpol was instrumental in taking care of the problem, but not without repercussions. And the drug still exists, although most Fae are not foolish enough to try it because they already know the outcome. However, much like humans, that doesn’t stop everyone.”
“You’d mentioned the monsters who preferred the Fae to be the only creatures around,” said Leah. “Did that happen because of the war?”
“No,” said Dorian, “it predated the war by thousands of years. The supernatural creatures that wanted to continue to destroy humankind, and those of us that wished to preserve it, had our falling out a very long prior to the start of the Fae Wars.
However, it is one example of how history repeats itself, in a way. Back in those days, it was mostly about jealousy and who had the right to exist, because we were here first. The Wars were more about addicts wanting to continue to have a right to their addiction. Some aspects are the same, but the addicts were not driven by any kind of moral justice. They only wanted to continue to use the drug.”
“Even though it would kill them too, in the end?” asked Leah.
“Yes,” said Dorian. “Humans have the same compunction, in a way.”
Thinking of the addicts she had met in her own life, Leah nodded. She also thought of her own interest in alcohol. Addiction was a monster of its own.
Gregoire put his head outside the cave again.
“You aren't going to keep Leah all to yourself, are you, Dorian?” he asked. He looked at her.
“I have made something called 'a Sunday roast'. I have been told humans like this. Would you like to join me, Detective Inspector Leah Bishop?”
***
A few hours later, they were climbing back up the scree to the hill.
“What was in that Sunday roast?” asked Leah, waving to Gregoire, who was standing beside his waterfall waving excitedly.
“I think it was just a roast, Leah,” said Dorian, “Something a supernatural learns very early on is that beautiful things are often the evil things. Ugly creatures like Gregoire are often of good heart. It’s unlikely he’d serve anything dangerous to us.”
“That doesn't say much for the selkies,” she said. The pained look that crossed his face for a moment told Leah it was Magnus Dorian was thinking of, and she fell silent.
They emerged onto the road side and walked together to a lonely train station, the loneliest in the Highlands.
“So, what next?” asked Leah.
“I think we need to find a village and stay there,” Dorian said, “I'm not entirely convinced that we have run into a dead end. I think that Gregoire knows something. He's been out of the army so long, and away from the fighting, that I can well imagine he does not want to get involved again.”
The train eventually arrived, as the dawn wreathed the mountains in sun breaking through the towering clouds. Leah faced the direction the train was going, and looked out at the landscape. Beautiful as it was, she wondered what would come of them if the train broke down in such a desolate area. The mountains hemmed them in, covered in snow, and the early morning fog crept through the glens.