by KH LeMoyne
He pulled his gaze away from her and forced himself to step back. However, he continued watching as the older man twisted around, searching for what had drawn the woman’s interest. With abrupt agitation, he pulled her away from the group. Several cloaked figures blocked Logan’s view before the mix of people melted behind the duo in a shifting sea of activity.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he drew in a deep breath and then backtracked to the stairs. The woman’s expression replayed in his mind as he stepped up his pace.
“What are you willing to risk for the answers you seek?”
He jerked around, looking for the source of the voice that had whispered in his ear. Only an empty room met his search.
“Destiny connects your will and your desire, Makir.”
Logan’s gaze scoured the ceiling and walls, and he frowned. Nothing. The voice, echoing in his mind and not from a solid being beside him, also matched the one from his dreams. Though for some reason it didn’t fit with the woman he’d just seen. And neither were figments of his imagination. That much he knew for certain—dream visions. Another gift of his bloodline. Or a curse. One his father had experienced, as had each male heir of the MacKenzie line before him.
Distracted by the voice and his thoughts, he kept moving until he looked up and spotted Robert squatting in front of him by the courtyard steps.
Robert eyes narrowed. “You okay?”
“Yeah, except I’m hearing and seeing things.”
“You flush anything out?”
“No. At least nothing that makes sense.” Logan ran a hand over the back of his neck.
“We could take a break, but we still have time left here before anyone else shows up.” Clicking shut his cell phone, Robert stood. “You finished inside?”
“Almost. I got more shots from the roof and the street exits I found.” Logan turned back, narrowing his gaze at a location above the alcove. The high, solid walls of the courtyard didn’t allow for the archway where he’d seen the people.
Had he been on the other side of the castle? He stepped back and looked at the walls from a different angle, mentally retracing his route. Then he shook his head. “I can’t find the other exit.”
Robert joined him and frowned at the three stories of solid rock that encompassed the inner curtain wall. “There isn’t one, except the one you came through and a service entrance around the opposite side of the courtyard—”
Logan turned and headed back inside the castle with Robert on his heels. They halted in the hallway where Logan had the vision. He now stared at the solid wall. No archway. No street. No crowd. No people.
He closed his eyes and looked again.
Nothing!
A cursory examination of the other hallway across the main gallery revealed no exit either. He didn’t doubt what he’d seen. Even now, the smell of rosemary lingered in the air. A scent he associated with her. His visions never involved all of his senses, much less occurred when he was wide-awake.
“Those people aren’t hallucinations.” He didn’t conjure her from his imagination. His fantasies were good, but his body’s reaction to her was too intense. Not to mention she’d be naked in his fantasy.
Robert felt along the covered walls. “You realize these hallways are on the second floor. Those people would have been standing in midair.”
“My view appeared to be from ground level.” Logan frowned. “I’m positive I was right here.”
“Maybe you dreamed the people earlier, and the location is triggering your memory and creating the same images.”
Logan ran his hand through his hair, his brows furrowed in thought. This made no sense.
Robert folded his arms, weariness lining his features. “We still have two more hours until the tours start. And having been through most of the building, I can assure you no one else is here. Which means something else is going on.”
Logan could almost see frustration covering Robert in a thick gray cloud. They’d both grown up sure and confident in their powers. Trust between all of his cousins was implicit. If they didn’t have each other, they were adrift and at risk.
He looked around again, searching for obvious explanations. “She was so…vivid.”
“A woman. Now I get it.” Robert headed back toward the main staircase. Logan followed, still searching the walls for hidden archways. “Though I’ve never known you to be distracted by a female. I gather she was gorgeous.”
“Stunning.”
Robert laughed and clapped him on the back. “Bring her back. I’d like a peek.”
“Not likely,” Logan muttered as they headed for the roof.
Halfway up the first flight, a shrill, feminine cry broke the silence. Several deeper, harsh shouts followed, and then a bone-chilling scream.
Logan vaulted up the stairs, three at a time. “Not the only one hearing voices now, am I?”
“Nope, someone’s definitely here,” Robert shouted from behind him.
Another scream erupted beyond an archway at the top. A pure, diamond-white, eight-foot ring shimmered, encircling a dark room at its core. Two men in ragged, coarse pants and coats spun in a macabre setting. Torches flickered in their grip, illuminating a small fire and a makeshift pallet. A woman knelt with her hands clenched in the air, as if in supplication.
“Non,” the woman whimpered as the taller of the men yanked her up and spun her back against his chest. With one arm, he contained her weak struggles, though her feet kicked inches from the ground.
“Taggart, hurry up with the brat.”
“Give it a rest.” The second man had a jagged scar bisecting the left side of his face, and he hovered over the cot, one hand fisted around a dagger. The other hand grasped a wad of bedding. Somehow sensing another presence, he glanced up at Logan and Robert. “Pheve, we’ve got company.”
Déjà vu ripped through Logan’s body, following by searing pain from his ring finger. He lunged forward, sharp heat spreading through his body with each step he took. Crossing the short distance took monumental effort. At a full run, he gained only an inch of headway, his body held tight in atmospheric jelly.
Pheve’s knife sliced across the woman’s throat and dropped her body to the ground. Logan reached them a moment too late. The feral gleam in Pheve’s eyes matched his snarl as he moved forward in challenge. He wove the bloody knife before him as he prepared for attack, his attention fixed on Logan.
The long, invisible rubber band slowing Logan’s progress suddenly released. The hard resistance across space snapped. Energy wrapped around his body and yanked him across the last few yards. Then his foot slipped.
He glanced down at the uneven rock pavers spread over the ground at irregular intervals. One overstep landed him on his left knee and he slammed down his hand, breaking his fall. Basalt rock? “Robert?”
“Right behind you. I’ll take pretty boy Taggart.”
Logan focused on the pain in his knee. The last wisps of dizziness and confusion cleared from his mind just as Pheve stumbled toward him across the uneven rocks.
Swiveling right, Logan avoided Pheve’s swipe to his face. Then he plowed his elbow into the man’s ribcage and sent him tumbling backward.
Depth perception was a struggle in the dim light, but Logan prepared for the next attack. Each basalt segment spanned roughly a three-foot diameter. Maneuverable, but the irregularity added a dangerous element to the fight, like balancing on top of pylons. The rock walls also echoed with the wind’s high-pitched whistle and rhythmic crashing water, the disorienting feedback driving him farther off-balance.
He moved back for an advantage as Pheve surged toward him. Pheve’s knife, half hidden in the folds of his long coat sleeve, whipped clean through Logan’s sleeve, slicing along his arm.
Pheve swung back for another attempt and Logan delivered a high kick, punching his attacker’s shoulder and spinning him to the ground. With a quick knee-drop onto Pheve’s back, Logan wrapped an arm around the man’s neck and slammed the knife hand into
the rock floor.
The man outweighed Logan by at least fifty pounds, but constant training provided him with an edge over the brute’s clumsy attempts to fight back.
He tightened the pressure on Pheve’s larynx. The man tried to turn, tucking his arm and aiming the knife backward at Logan’s side. He avoided the strike, but Pheve bucked. Sliding on the slick rock, Logan lost his grasp.
Without traction, Pheve struggled as well. He lurched up, just to slip and plummet to the ground. Logan grabbed for the knife hand, pulled it high, and held tight. They both slipped, their new positions twisting Pheve’s wrist. His bone snapped with a loud pop.
With a howl, Pheve dropped the knife, but grabbed for it. Logan did too, landing on top of Pheve with the knife hidden beneath the lout’s bulk.
But Pheve didn’t move.
Logan rolled away and cautiously poked at the still body with his foot. Getting no response, he shoved hard and flipped Pheve over. The knife handle stuck out at a garish angle from the man’s neck.
Breathing hard, he glanced around for Robert. “You good?”
“All clear. I finished with Taggart and you looked like you had Pheve handled, so I looked around.”
Logan could make out Robert’s silhouette at the far end of the bleak, gray expanse of what was now clearly recognizable as a cave. Columnar walls supported the huge, vaulted ceiling. A steady stream of water coursed through a channel in the cave floor. The smell of salt and seaweed hung damp and thick in the muggy air. Water lines along the walls confirmed a high tide line.
“Where the hell are we?” Logan searched for any familiar details. The tunnel they’d traveled through and the white circle of light were gone.
Not waiting on an answer, Logan staggered over to the slain woman and checked for a pulse. In the fading firelight, her blood pooled in a large, black stain around her. He gently closed her eyes, and took in the gray wisps of hair escaping the cap above her weathered, pockmarked face. Her thin body was dressed in a long, shapeless, brown gown, topped with a bloodstained apron.
He felt sick. Killing hadn’t been a choice. But kill or die—it didn’t make his disgust any easier to handle.
Logan stood, and stepped over Taggart’s lifeless body, focused on the small outline of a shape beneath the covers on the pallet. He crouched and brushed at a light-brown curl escaping a tiny cap. A child. From her size, he guessed maybe seven, or a petite nine. His disgust vanished as he bit back a curse. Pheve and Taggart deserved death again for their crimes. Teeth gritted, he reached below the blankets and checked for a pulse. A weak, thready beat thrummed beneath his fingers, though the hot, dry skin concerned him. He bent his head and listened at her chest. Her breathing came out in a rough rasp.
She was alive—for the time being.
“I’ve no clue where we are. The cave continues farther back. I’ll do a quick recon,” Robert said as he joined him. “Shit. I really hoped that wasn’t a kid.”
“She’s got a fever and likely fluid in the lungs. What’d you find?”
“There’s a rowboat tied near the cave’s exit.” He gestured behind Logan. “A tunnel back there leads to the top of this stack of rocks, but we’re on a spit surrounded by water. The view from there is disturbing.”
“How so?”
“I’d swear this is Staffa. The basalt in here is distinctive. The shoreline looks about right for Mull, but I don’t recognize any landmarks. There’s also a ship off the southern edge. A very old vessel. I’m talking a historic relic, several hundred years old, not a rusty bucket. Ten to one says these guys came from there. Another rowboat is also headed this way.”
Logan glanced toward the cave mouth. Sheets of rain curtained the opening in a steady downfall, and his gut twisted uneasily. “I’m guessing it’s not the weather that’s interfering with finding landmarks.”
“Correct. The shoreline’s almost barren. No homes. No moored boats. No Glengorm Castle hotel.”
“How long before the other boat lands?”
“Best guess, thirty minutes or so.”
“Then we move now.” Logan turned back to the child and frowned. Her delicate bone structure and clear skin—while pale and free of the pockmarks evident on the others—distinguished her from her captors and caregiver.
Had the old woman been a nurse or nanny?
Then Logan noticed a thin, angry abrasion at the base of the child’s neck and glanced at Taggart’s body. “Check his pockets.”
Robert rummaged through the filthy folds of clothing. After a brisk search, he pocketed a knife, handed another to Logan, and placed a narrow silver chain with a tiny carved medallion on the little girl’s chest. “Too dainty for Taggart’s style, don’t you think?”
Robert’s eyes narrowed as he took in the child’s abrasions. “These guys strike me as low-class mercenary sorts, pirate types. She doesn’t seem like a worthy mark. That trinket also wouldn’t fetch a pittance, much less a ransom.”
“Ransom mark or not, they were ready to kill her.” Logan met Robert’s gaze across the child’s body. “Which makes even less sense, since she’ll die of pneumonia staying here. Why bother killing her?”
Robert glanced toward the rain and back. “What do you want to do?”
“Go home.” Logan’s laugh came out sour, matching his mood. But he carefully checked the girl for injuries. “We can’t stay here and wait for their associates to show up.”
“Associates is too nice a term for assholes. What’s your take on their clothes and our change of venue? I mean, since we don’t have Ruth here for a demystifying vision.”
Logan pulled a blanket around the child and secured it. “The gateway, or whatever we came through, is gone. We could be crazy or dreaming, but either way, those people”—Logan nodded to the bodies—“are definitely dead. The child will be, too, if we don’t leave and get her help. We’ll deal with the anomalies about our reality later.”
“Anomalies. I’ve missed how much fun and logical supernatural experiences are around you.” Robert ran a hand across his close-cropped fringe of blond hair. “I’ll prep the boat. But, for the record, I don’t believe I’m crazy or that we’re sharing a psychosis.” He picked up an additional blanket and slid another knife into the waistband of his pants. “I hope our powers work here. Wherever here is.”
Logan snorted and wiped Pheve’s knife off on Taggart’s pants. He tucked it through his belt and lifted the child in his arms. “I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.”
Robert draped the blanket over Logan’s shoulder. “You might need your hands for the boat. The ride’s going to be rough. I’ll tie her to you.”
“She’ll be drenched,” Logan muttered. The comment more for himself than Robert. From the scowl on his cousin’s face, he wasn’t giving high odds for the kid’s survival, no matter how much they helped her.
“Hope she lives,” Robert said.
“She has to.” Logan tested the blanket knot around his waist as Robert tore strips and bound the girl until she fit snug against Logan’s chest. “She’s the only one left alive of the original bunch here, and I suspect she’s the reason we’re on this rock.”
“Congratulations. Now you officially sound like Ruth,” Robert muttered and turned away.
Logan opened his mouth to retort, but a voice interrupted him as a piercing pain started behind his eyes.
“An open mind will avail much.”
Logan turned, but Robert had left and the cave was empty. “Who are you?”
The female voice softened. “I will help you with the answers you seek, head of clan MacKenzie, bloodline descendent of the Makir, sentinel of the portals. When the time comes, this boon will return tenfold.”
“And I need your help for what reason?” He said the words aloud, testing—or perhaps challenging—the unseen female. He needed answers. If she at least kept talking, he’d know he wasn’t losing his mind. Because he could never conceive of this nightmare.
Silence stretched on for a long mome
nt, then the voice returned, infinitely sadder. “We all succeed or we all fail—together.”
3
Dimension of Loci
Isle of Mull
Bri followed Hefin’s slow, careful steps. A sign of his caution, not advanced age, and a trait she valued as much as his protectiveness.
He’d maneuvered her through the village streets, keeping her close, and steered them toward the empty dirt path beyond the cottages. She welcomed his concern, though the locals posed no threat. He’d known most of these families for years. As a result, she trusted them.
Strangers were another issue. More had found their way onto the island this last year. With Bri’s compulsion for visiting the villages and checking for signs of her brothers, exposure was a risk. But her siblings had to be here. Her mother wouldn’t have separated them forever, would she?
“You’re certain you saw something?” She’d donned her cloak when they left, the confines of the wool hiding her face from view. Now, she gathered her hood at her throat. Her gaze flicked back and forth as her mind reached out, carefully probing, testing the surroundings for any evil presence or telltale vibrations of vast power. No unprecedented shimmers, cold chills, or unexplainable dark clouds revealed themselves. No presence but the two of them.
“I don’t see them now. But, sure as I’m standing here, two hooded figures watched you from the edge of the village, and the Saracen stood out, as well. I’d like to know which seer sent him. The Mackinnon’s scouts weren’t far away either. You should take more care, lass. You shine too bright to escape notice these days.”
Hefin didn’t bother hiding his scowl as she conjured pants for herself instead of the cumbersome skirt worn by the women in the Mackinnon clan. No one would see what she wore beneath her cloak. Besides, she needed the freedom of pants if they had to fight.