Night of the Highland Dragon

by Isabel Cooper

  “A couple of minor demons and a few dead livestock? Why is that worth your time?” She drummed her fingers on her hip. “You’re clearly not an amateur. I’ll give you that. You can’t really be up here because you think that whoever’s responsible might switch to humans.” Judith watched William’s face as she talked. It was a careful blank. “So,” she asked, “who’s died already?”

  William visibly weighed his options, then sighed. “The peddler I’d mentioned. Actually, a boy down in Belholm. I don’t know his name. He visited a friend of mine. Afterwards.”

  “Your…friend of a friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “A month ago. More or less.”

  “How do you know the killer was from here? Or that it wasn’t just a fight gone bad?”

  “I saw the body,” William said and then after another short hesitation, “and I saw tracks. Magical ones. They led in this direction.”

  “And you heard stories about a strange village with a stranger lady.” Judith felt her lips curve into a thin smile. “Well. I can’t deny I’d have been suspicious in your shoes.”

  He didn’t apologize, which was wise. She’d been sincere. An apology would have meant that William thought she was stupid, or at least irrational. “If it helps anything,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, “I’m fairly certain now that you aren’t the killer.”

  “Oh?”

  “Whoever killed the boy used his death to summon the demons—the things that you just killed. You wouldn’t have needed to kill them if they were yours.”

  “If only I’d thought to slay demons in front of you weeks ago,” Judith said dryly. “We could have avoided so many misunderstandings.”

  Although his gaze never wavered, William visibly stifled a laugh. “Proper introductions are very important.”

  “I’ll have to study my etiquette books again.”

  “Do your people have many rules of etiquette?”

  “Scots?” asked Judith, widening her eyes. “Of course. We’re not barbarians, you know.”

  “Dragons.”

  “What makes you think we’re a people? I could just be a witch.”

  William chuckled. “To begin with, you’re very well-preserved, even for the age you claim.”

  “Clean living and a pure soul. Or possibly a pact with the devil. Take your pick.”

  “So were your parents, from what I’ve heard,” William went on, ignoring her riposte. “And nobody’s quite sure how old your brothers are, nor what happens in the north wing of your castle. In fact, one or two of your servants seem quite unable to discuss the matter. I’ve never heard of spells that would let one take inhuman form, and”—his eyes traveled over her, for once without heat—“you’re not wearing the sort of jewelry that would be a focus for any kind of powerful shape-shifting. That means your…other shape…is likely to be natural, and the odds are good that it runs in your blood. Besides, your family’s sorcerous ability is a matter of historical record.”

  When he mentioned Colin and Stephen, Judith lost the urge to play. She listened to the rest of his evidence with numb lips and a cold face. “Whose records would those be?” she asked, her voice dropping. “Your master’s? I was thinking it very generous of you to spend all this time working on behalf of a poor boy’s ghost or a little village in the middle of nowhere. But as I said, you’re no amateur.”

  “I’m not new to magic, no,” he said. His eyes were narrow again, and the look of a decision in progress was back on his face. “That doesn’t mean I have a master.”

  Judith snorted, dragon-like. “You’re not new to magic. You’re not new to firearms. You can find ‘historical records’ concerning my kin. You’re carrying a whopping great chunk of magical craftsmanship, and you sneak off to Aberdeen for secret meetings. You’re working for someone, Mr. Arundell. Who is it?”

  She watched him as he thought of what to say. For the most part, he didn’t look that impressive. The trip through the forest was no easy one, particularly for a mortal who didn’t know where he was going. Burrs and briars had attached themselves to William’s coat; his trouser cuffs were muddy; and there was a clump of pine needles in his hair. By appearances, he was in far over his head—until one got to the pistol and the expression on his face.

  Not new to magic might have been quite an understatement.

  At last, William shifted his weight slightly. “See here,” he said. “If you give me your word that you won’t try to damage me, I’ll put the gun down. We’re both reasonable people. The person at work here probably isn’t—and we both want to see him stopped. Or her. We could be far more effective together.”

  “If you’re not the killer,” said Judith. “You said you’re fairly certain I’m not. I didn’t say any such thing about you.”

  “Why would I have told you about the boy if I was?” William pointed out. “You almost never go to Belholm. Odds are you’d never have heard.”

  There were possibilities—that he knew someone else was going to tell her and wanted to get there first, that he was telling her so that she’d think they were on the same side because he had a larger plan—but those options all seemed too complicated to be likely, especially now. Besides, she only had to give her word.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said. “I swear it.”

  “By the stars and the sun.”

  She hadn’t intended to lie, but she curled her lip anyhow when he asked for the oath. He was good, and she didn’t like it. “By the stars and the sun,” she said, “I promise that, unless you try to kill or do grave bodily harm to me or mine, I will make no attempt to harm you.”

  Judith felt the bindings settle about her, constricting the dragon part of her nature. She’d never been certain whether the oath would bind her as fully as it would one of the real immortals—she hadn’t taken it more than three times in her life—but it would assuredly hinder her.

  With a nod, William returned the pistol to his coat. “When I said I wasn’t a policeman,” he said slowly, “I was telling the truth. Just not all of it.”

  “You were misleading me? Imagine that.”

  “Let’s not throw stones at each other’s glass houses, hmm?”

  “Fair,” said Judith. “Speaking of houses—” She looked around indicatively. It was almost full dark. That wouldn’t be a physical problem for her, but she wasn’t angry enough with William to make him stumble into trees more than necessary. Nor did she want the village discussing how they’d both disappeared for hours at nightfall. She was glad she’d worn old clothing. Transforming was hard on a new wardrobe, when the magic didn’t recognize clothing as part of her, and she could only imagine the reaction if she came back with William at her side and her shirt in tatters. “Can you explain while we walk?”

  “Glad to,” said William.

  Seeing in the dark didn’t seem to be a problem for him, it turned out, but he still didn’t know the woods nearly as well as she did. They went in silence until they reached the main path, and it startled Judith a little when William spoke again.

  “There’s a branch of the government that concerns itself with magic and, ah, otherwise unknown beings.”

  “Monsters,” said Judith, rolling her eyes in the darkness. “I won’t start crying if you say it. I won’t slap you either.”

  “You don’t seem the slapping kind.”

  “No. No point in hitting if you don’t break bones.” Brothers didn’t count, and that had all been years ago. And she’d at least bloodied Stephen’s nose back then. “Go on. I take it you belong to them.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t. And?”

  “The boy’s ghost contacted one of our other agents. He’d felt the person who killed him using that death to make contact with the demons and thought that someone ought to be told. He
was a brave young chap, it appears, and a keen one. Whoever he was.”

  There was genuine regret in William’s voice. Judith had heard its like a thousand times. On occasion, it had come from her lips or her pen.

  I regret to inform you, madam, that your son…

  In sympathy, she reached toward him, only to think better of the impulse at the last second and pull her hand back. If William noticed, he was well-mannered enough not to show it. Judith cleared her throat. “And you tracked the killer here. More or less.”

  “More or less,” said William. Looking down the path, he laughed ruefully. “I confess I had thought this was going to be a much simpler affair.”

  “That’s how it usually goes, isn’t it?”

  “Quite so.”

  The sky was dark now, and the haze from earlier lingered, hiding both stars and moon. Judith let her mind sort itself out, shunting surprise and confusion off bit by bit until it could get at the important questions and the really disturbing truths.

  “Very well,” she said. “What do you know about this killer?”

  “Not much. I didn’t see a face or a very defined shape.”

  “I didn’t know you’d seen anything at all.”

  “It’s a spell. And a fairly new one. I couldn’t entirely explain how it works,” he said, holding up a hand.

  She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’m not my brother Colin. I wasn’t going to ask. So—”

  “Tall and thin. As I said, the shape wasn’t very clear—that is, when I suspected you, I thought you’d been wearing a large coat, perhaps—” He cleared his throat, and she half saw, half felt him glance toward her breasts.

  Inconvenient memory brought with it an even less convenient surge of lust. “Let’s take it on faith that I’m not insulted,” she said roughly. “Did you use the same spell at Finlay’s?”

  “With similar results—and I saw the demons that time.” He paused, then added, “I went back after our encounter. At night, as I suspect Mrs. Simon was good enough to inform you. There was a larger demon in the forest as well.”

  At Judith’s sides, both her hands curled into claws. She drew in a rippling, half-snarled breath through her teeth. The rat-things had angered her, but they’d not been large enough to count as real trespassers. A bigger demon…in her territory…and threatening William… That was a different story entirely.

  “What became of it?” she bit out.

  “Ah—dead,” William replied. He sounded startled, and she could see the whites of his eyes for a moment, but he didn’t shrink away. “As you’ve seen, I’m not in the habit of wandering about unarmed.”

  “Wise,” she said, the urge to defend subsiding. “As far as the killer goes, I can only tell you that Stewart’s cow was the first such killing I’ve heard of, and I hear of most things in Loch Arach. But I take it there’s a reason our man—or woman, I suppose—wants to summon demons here.”

  “Yes,” said William. “I was hoping you knew.”

  Judith shook her head. “Offhand? No. I’m sure I can think of reasons. Perhaps my brothers can as well. I’ll let you know once I’ve spoken to them.”

  “Thank you,” said William. Once more, he hesitated. Then he looked soberly at her. “Judith,” he said slowly, “you know I can’t not report what I’ve seen, don’t you?”

  She hadn’t thought of it, but hearing the words brought no sense of surprise and a leaden feeling of inevitability. “Nay, I don’t suppose you could.”

  “You’re not going to say anything else about it?” he asked. They were close to the castle now.

  Judith shrugged. “Is there aught to say on the matter? You’ve my word not to harm you already. ’Tis unlikely I could find the words to sway you. Raging against what is and cannot be otherwise has never been to my tastes. Besides,” she admitted, “I’d like as not do the same were I in your shoes.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I—appreciate that.”

  “Glad to be of service, Master Arundell.”

  Wisely, he changed the subject. “If I may say so, you speak—differently sometimes. Just now, for instance. It’s not only sounding more Scottish. The words are different too.”

  “Oh,” said Judith. She hadn’t been conscious of the slip, but thinking back, she could hear it in her own speech. “It’s how people talked when I was young. One goes back in times of strain.”

  “Yes, quite,” said William. “I’m sure I’ve done it myself.”

  She saw him struggling between etiquette and curiosity. As they came to the fork in the road, one lane leading to the castle and the other to the village, Judith smiled. “A hundred and eighty years ago.” Sixty seemed quite young to her in retrospect, though she hadn’t thought so at the time. “Good night, William.”

  Twenty-three

  As he walked back to the village, William began to try to compose a report in his head.

  Lady MacAlasdair not the killer. Actually a dragon, as is family. Unsure how this happened. Possibly all several hundred years old. Relevance to case unknown. Just thought you should be aware of situation.

  It didn’t sound good. Nothing sounded very good in the terse phrases that most easily lent themselves to ciphering, but William discovered that he couldn’t even think of a long and flowery version that suited him particularly well.

  Dear Sir: A further development has come to my attention and recommends itself to your probable interest. Lady MacAlasdair—

  No.

  On the face of it, the news was as probable as several other incidents he’d written up. In Belgium, an eyeless little thing made of clay had tried to kill him with a pair of garden shears. After he’d shot the homunculus and its master, and put a torch to the man’s cellar-slash-“laboratory,” William had reported the incident quickly, faithfully, and in detail. Watkins had asked questions, but none about the basic strangeness of the matter. Basic strangeness was what D Branch dealt in.

  But—dragons. It sounded so very nursery tale, as if the next thing to happen would involve a poisoned apple or a good fairy.

  For all he knew, it might. William shook his head, and then stopped.

  Even lost in thought, he made a habit of keeping his eyes and ears open. That was especially true on the open road, and doubly so in his current time and place. He’d distinctly seen movement up ahead of him. He turned his head and spotted a human figure walking toward him.

  “Hallo?” William called, trying to sound like a nervous traveler. The medallion was safely tucked away in his bag, but it still lent him some virtue. His vision in the cloudy night was as good as it would have been with a clear sky and a full moon. He rested one hand on the silver-loaded pistol in his pocket. “Er—”

  “What?” The voice was male, with an educated version of the local accent, and irritated. “Yes?”

  “Sorry,” said William. “Just a touch jumpy in this darkness.”

  With both of the men walking forward, the distance closed rapidly. William recognized Ross MacDougal, in a warm coat and hat, with a basket on one arm. His face looked pale, but that could have easily been the light.

  He gave William a tight smile. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s one step from wilderness out here.” Ross looked from William to the road that stretched beyond him and frowned suddenly. “Are you coming from the castle?”

  “Oh yes,” said William, surprised at the other man’s expression. “Wanted to drop by and offer my assistance, naturally, with this dreadful fire business. And to see what provisions are being made for food and mail and so forth. I thought the lady would know, if anyone did.”

  “Oh aye,” said MacDougal, his expression reluctantly easing. “Did she?”

  “I don’t know,” said William. If the man disapproved of William calling on Judith, it was best to make the story as innocent as possible. “She was busy. I left a card with her butler and waited for a w
hile, but a man has only so much patience. Particularly at suppertime. I’m impressed by your self-discipline, if you’re coming out now.”

  “I don’t mind about supper as much as some,” said Ross with a faint chuckle. He gestured toward the basket. “My mother set her heart on sending some of her preserves up to the castle, and I think a loaf of bread as well. As if they don’t have enough—but you know how women are, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve a passing acquaintance with the breed,” said William. “Though not of mothers for some years. It’s good of you to take the trouble. Especially as she sent you so late.”

  Ross glanced away. “Ah. Well,” he said, “I’d meant to come earlier, and indeed I had started before the sun went down. But I ran into business in the village, you see.”

  From the way he was acting, business was likely to mean one of the female inhabitants. William chuckled. “Quite understandable. And I’m sure everything will taste just as good in the evening.”

  “If they’re busy up at the castle,” Ross said, “perhaps I shouldn’t intrude on them.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lady MacAlasdair might only have been avoiding me.” William smiled and made a self-deprecating gesture. “Englishmen aren’t very popular with a few people in these parts. And even if she is busy, the kitchen servants likely won’t all be, will they? I’d imagine you’d at least be able to hand the goods over, and they might give you a cup of tea as well.”

  “That’s a cheerful thought,” Ross said. “You’re disposed to be very helpful, Mr. Arundell, from everything I’ve seen. Do you have any intention of making your visit permanent?”

  “Oh no,” said William. “Charming place and all that, but I don’t know that I could spend very long away from London.”

  “You must have been able to stay in the better sections,” said Ross, pursing his mouth. “But I’ll not deny those are quite nice. Will you be staying the winter, at least?”

  “You know, I’m not sure,” William said and fought back the urge to sigh. Spending the winter on a Scottish mountaintop had not been in his plans when he’d first arrived. Now it wasn’t such a grim prospect—and that was a bad sign in itself. “My plans were never fixed. It depends very much on what news I receive from home, I suppose.”