Guardian of the Moon Pendant

by Laura J Williams

  I continued to collect my deodorant, shampoo, and conditioner into a sleek silvery toiletry bag I had. The only nice thing Anabel ever gave to me. Good thing I filled it with gross things like, maxi pads and tampons.

  “Izzy,” Vyx said, rubbing his crooked jaw, “this scroll can fetch a good price downtown.”

  I whirled around, holding up a pair of black tights in each hand. “Should I take my black leggings,” I said comically, shaking the pair in my left hand, “or my black leggings?” shaking another pair in my right hand.

  I giggled inside. Man, I’m such a cornball with my jokes.

  Vyx just ignored me, his lips mouthing over the strange rune symbols etched onto the ancient scroll.

  He never really did pay attention to me anyway. Maybe, that’s why we were a good fit. I could blab away all night, happily, just knowing someone else was in the room, sort of listening to me. So what if he didn’t truly hear me? He was physically there and that’s more than I ever got from anyone else before.

  “Hell, I’ll take them both,” I declared, rolling them both into a tight ball and stuffing them into my luggage.

  “Rare indeed,” Vyx continued in a raspy voice, still ogling over that stupid scroll.

  “Violet eye shadow, eyeliner…”

  “Betcha it’s worth a small fortune,” Vyx snorted like he won the lottery.

  “Give me that,” I said, snatching the scroll from between his fingers, “And get your ugly boots off my table!”

  Vyx snarled.

  I held the bone dagger in the palm of my other hand, returning it to Vyx, an eerie feeling of dread tingled up my spine, its blade gleaming in the overhead light.

  “Gonna cut someone’s heart out with that knife, Vyx?” I stated, narrowing my eyes on him.

  Vyx plucked it out of my hand, stuffing it back in his boot. “Maybe,” he hissed.

  I examined the ancient scroll, an overwhelming sense of belonging to something greater than myself surged throughout my body. I squinted hard at its symbols, blinking repeatedly, its stained parchment transforming before my eyes, swirling into an inky mist, shifting and morphing into a double-winged dragon.

  “I’m so digging the dragon,” I laughed.

  “What dragon?” Vyx flinched, jolting to his feet, grabbing the scroll from between my fingers, studying it and hoping to see what I saw.

  I sighed. It must be a MacAlpin thing!

  “Seriously,” I said, tapping at the new image of a fierce dragon painted across the scroll, “that would make a cool tattoo,” and then I quickly sidestepped away from Vyx.

  “Liar!” Vyx hollered, losing his cool, his face red like a rose, his veins popping out of his forehead, spitting irritably at me. “There’s no dragon...”

  I chuckled inside. I did enjoy seeing his bad temper come out, on occasion that is.

  “Tsk, tsk,” I said, waving my index finger back and forth. “Remember about your anger management, Vyx.”

  Vyx froze his face twitching like he was trying to maintain control.

  I stared at him blankly. He was a bull ready to charge at a moment’s notice, and I was the matador with my blaring red cape, rustling it before his eyes. I had to keep on my toes with him, never letting him have any chance for him to attack me.

  My mind flashed back to packing, realizing I almost forgot something important. “Oh, yeah, my passport!”

  Vyx slowly descended onto the bed, taking in steady deep long breaths, one after the other. I could gradually see his face changing back to its normal pink shade.

  “Say, Izzy,” Vyx mumbled, “I know this guy downtown.”

  I let out a blast of air. I knew Vyx wasn’t going to let up on this whole selling the MacAlpin scroll. The guy always had some kind of scheme going on, whether I wanted in on it or not.

  “Listen, Vyx,” I said extra slowly, mouthing my words so he could read my lips. “It’s time to go.”

  ♦♦♦

  Anabel

  I pushed through the clear glass doors at the hospital.

  “Izzy MacAlpin,” I said breathlessly to the woman behind the desk.

  She pulled her hazel eyes away from her magazine for a second. “Room 419,” she said flatly.

  I entered the sterile room, a horrible fear swelling in the pit of my stomach, scanning the brightly lit room filled with dripping I.V.’s, beeping monitors, and oxygen tubing coiled into Izzy’s nose. Izzy lay motionless in the bed under a bright pool of light, her body limp, her face covered in black and blues, a bloodied lip, her right eye bandaged with a butterfly strip.

  Vyx was slunk down in a chair next to her bed, picking his finger nails with a sharp bone colored knife.

  My eyes flashed to Izzy’s comatose body and then back to Vyx.

  “Will she regain consciousness?” I said apprehensively, kneading my hand against the back of my neck, hoping that somehow I wouldn’t have to go to Scotland in her place.

  Vyx tilted his head up, meeting my gaze. “If she doesn’t bite it before the night’s over,” he said with a snicker.

  “But her trip?” I asked, my heart thundering inside my chest. Please, she has to go! I can’t do it, not now, not ever!

  “Why don’t you FedEx her, sweetheart,” Vyx laughed sarcastically, pointing his steel blade toward Izzy. “I heard they have an overnight parcel delivery service.”

  I took in a cool deep breath, trying to calm my nerves down as Vyx mocked me.

  “But, I can’t!” I blurted out through gritted teeth.

  Vyx smirked, waving the sharp tip of his blade toward me as if he were giving me some sound advice. “If I were a smart girl like you, I wouldn’t want to be tied down to an old biddy, either.” He picked his teeth with his fingernail. “Way too much responsibility to take care of her,” his bulbous thumb gesturing toward Izzy’s unconscious body.

  An attending nurse entered the room, fiddling with Izzy’s plastic I.V. bag, its contents trickling into a clear hollow tube fastened to her left arm.

  “Plan a wedding,” he continued masterfully, “and to go to medical school in the fall.”

  Vyx obviously wanted me to stay here, forget Scotland, and focus on my life. Maybe, he wasn’t such a Neanderthal after all?

  “Medical school?” interrupted the nurse, chiming in on our private conversation. “How wonderful! Which one?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I said nervously, feeling a swell of nausea swimming in my belly. “I’m still waiting for the response letters to return in the mail.”

  “No doubt they’ll be banging down your door,” she said sweetly, adjusting a few things on the beeping monitor. “In the meantime, Izzy can be your first patient. I’m sure she’ll get the best care from you.”

  I swallowed hard. Izzy be my patient? That was the last thing I wanted. I gazed down at Izzy’s body just lying there. An intense heat flickered through my body. I didn’t want to be trapped into taking care of her. I didn’t want my life to change at all, but yet it was going to happen whether I liked it or not. If I stayed behind, I’d be chained to take care of her, putting my whole future on hold. If I went to Scotland it would put a wrench in my plans, but yet I still did have the whole summer off. It was early June and I did have over two months to spare. I wondered what sort of duties that Granny had in mind for me?

  My head cleared. I knew what I had to do.

  “No,” I said graciously, “that won’t happen. My obligations are with my Granny in Scotland.” There it was out in the open. My plan was to get in and out of Scotland as fast as I could. Lickety split. I’d do whatever it took to get Granny up and going again.

  Vyx arched his brow at me.

  “Oh?” said the nurse surprised.

  “No worries,” Vyx said, pressing his fingers into Izzy’s forearm. “I’ll take care of my little honey bear.”

  My head jerked back in shock, noticing the same two deep indentations on Vyx’s forearm as the ones on my father’s arm.

  “What a strange mark,” the nurse
remarked, lifting Vyx’s arm up to examine it, the tips of her fingers tracing over his deep scars. “Is that some sort of tattoo?”

  “Of course,” Vyx said with a faintly mocking grin etched on his twisted face.

  I started to dig through the large box of Izzy’s belongings on the dresser, my fingers flipping through her clothing, digging through her black hobo bag, and searching for the ancient MacAlpin scroll.

  “She had a scroll,” I said stiffly, eyeing the nurse and Vyx.

  “That’s everything she came in with,” the nurse said innocently.

  My left eye squinted at Vyx, feeling that he had stolen it.“Vyx?”

  “Never seen it,” Vyx said, directly into my eyes, not flinching or blinking at all.

  I sighed. So be it. Off to Scotland without it.

  Chapter 3

  Isle of Moon, Scotland

  ♦♦♦

  Anabel

  The wind was relentless, a powerful blast of sea air swept through my hair, brushing wispy strands onto my cheeks. From the ferry, I squinted hard to see the shoreline, while shards of salt water stung my eyes, forcing them to become mere slivers. A noisy gull swooped down from the grey sky, landing on a few wet rocks, pecking its beak into the seashells, scavenging for its next meal.

  There it was in the distance, enshrouded in a swirling mist, slowly rising out of the horizon, the Isle of Moon. The island where my mother had been born and raised, where my Granny now lives, the homeland I was forced to go to.

  My mother and father had left the Isle of Moon nineteen years ago when she was pregnant with Izzy and I was just a toddler. She was always tight-lipped about Scotland, never ever speaking about it, except to tell us tales about Granny and her sister Rose.

  Rose was said to be a rare beauty from these parts. She and Granny were not only best sisters, but fierce adventurers on these purple heather lands. Always looking out for one another, making sure the other one was safe, a completely different relationship from me and Izzy.

  The ferry bumped along the dock’s edged while men swiftly coiled and tightened ropes, securing its mooring to the pier.

  I sighed with relief. I had finally arrived.

  I stepped off the ferry onto a small wooden ramp. Abruptly, a wave of passengers shoved passed me, jostling me from side to side, making me lose my balance, my hand shot out, clenching onto the railing before I fell flat on my face.

  I blew out a frustrated breath.

  The bitter rain began to fall. Shielding myself, I opened my ruffled umbrella, raising it high above my head. The wind howled and groaned, the umbrella catching a strong gust, whipping it upward, its fabric tearing apart, bending and twisting wildly in the fierce wind, its metal frame now broken and useless, leaving me to drown like a wet rat.

  Quickly, I tucked the broken umbrella under my arm, dashing toward the ferry’s office, dodging a few passengers still meandering along the long dock. Panting heavily, I rolled my oversized luggage behind me, its wheels wobbling along the uneven boards, its casing soaking up the rain like a sponge, causing my arm to strain under its weight.

  Out of breath, I ducked into a small white building nestled beside the dock.

  My eyes carefully scanned the room, hoping to find transportation to the old farmhouse. Finally, I fixed my eyes on a sign over a doorway which read ‘taxi,’ and poked my head out the side door, hoping to find one for hire. I spotted an old rusty sedan with its engine running, plumes of grey smoke billowing out from its muffler, waiting silently beside the curb.

  Inhaling a sharp breath, I bolted out the door, dashing between the pellets of rain and yanked the taxi’s door open.

  “Taxi?” I said to the greasy haired man reading a newspaper sitting behind the steering wheel.

  “Aye!” he replied in a thick Scottish brogue, folding his paper in half, and then placing it on the passenger seat.

  I slid into the backseat, dripping rain water onto the tattered upholstery, smelling the stench of tobacco, beer, and eww is that vomit? I heaved up my overweight piece of Louis Vuitton luggage, which Edgar had bought me last Christmas.

  Edgar was such a dream when I told him I was leaving for Scotland. He went out of his way to buy me a few books on Scottish travel and ironically on the Scottish Fae. Edgar not only was a computer genius, he also believed in local folklore and mythology. He always said that with every story, there is a thread of truth that runs through it.

  I placed my shredded umbrella onto the sticky floor, noticing that my boots had become scuffed up from the trip. A smudge of spit will polish them up nicely, I thought. Licking the pad of my thumb and vigorously rubbing the dirt off, shining them up as good as new.

  “There’s no drying out today,” stated the driver, his beady eyes squinting into the rear view mirror. He revved the engine, turning the windshield wipers on and began to motor down the roadway. “It’s really pissing down,” he said, darting his brown eyes from the road back into the rear view mirror. “Where to, lass?”

  I flipped open my Sephora mirror. A black raccoon ring rimmed my eyes; darn mascara wasn’t waterproof. I winced, swiping my finger under my eyelashes to remove the mess. “MacAlpin farmhouse,” I answered.

  The taxi’s brakes stomped down, jerking me forward, my head banging into the hard plastic seat in front of me.

  “Ow!” I screamed, rubbing the welt on my forehead.

  “Get out!” ordered the driver, his eyes narrowing in on me, his hairy nostrils flaring.

  “Why?” I asked, my heart pounding.

  “Is this a joke?” he spat. “You must think I’m mad!”

  I tried to look out the window, but an onslaught of water pounded against the car’s window.

  “You have to take me,” I ordered, “you’re a taxi!”

  “No, no I don’t,” he said with a smug grin, shaking his scruffy head. “Now get your bony American arse out of me car!”

  I glanced down at my broken umbrella and then at the half ton piece of luggage that was firmly planted in the seat next to me. “I’m not going back out there!” I declared, crossing my arms and standing my ground.

  “Then I’ll drag you out meself!” he sneered.

  Why would this stranger want to send me out into this torrential rain? “I have money!” I blurted, hoping that it would change his mind.

  Grumbling under his breath with a few crude expletives, he placed the car in park, turning the ignition key off and then flung the driver’s side door open, placing one boot on the saturated ground.

  “Please, I don’t want to…” I begged.

  I even think a few tears formed in my eyes. I was so tired from the journey, exhausted from the plane ride, on one side of me, a large man with a beer barrel belly snored the whole time, jerking uncontrollably when he inhaled too much air, on the other side of me sat a hipster, her music blasting on her iPod, drinking whiskey profusely, singing to herself the Velvet Underground’s “Heroin.” Then there was the grueling train from Edinburgh through the Highlands, the ferry ride to the Outer Hebrides, and now this taxi was just a mere few miles from a hot shower, a warm meal, and a decent night’s sleep. I knew I’d do anything not to walk the rest of the way, especially in this weather.

  Suddenly, a man’s scratchy voice arose from the black radio set on the dashboard, warbled and weak, it faded in and out. “Fergus!” it exclaimed.

  Fergus reached in, still keeping his beady eyes steady on me, lifting the receiver to his mouth. “Aye!”

  “He’s steamin’ drunk, Fergus!” proclaimed the husky voice to the taxi. “Pick ‘em up before his head’s bashed in, again!”

  “Can’t McKade do it?”

  “Nah, he’s out!”

  I watched Fergus’ jaw clench tightly, gritting his teeth, green veins popped out of his neck, inflating up like a balloon. He returned the receiver to its hook, pausing, tapping his fingers repeatedly on the receiver, still in a thought, his left eye twitching uncontrollably.

  He turned his head toward me
, looking me dead straight in the eyes and said, “It’s your lucky day, lass.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but I was definitely happy that I didn’t have to trudge through the rain and mud.

  Fergus positioned himself back into the driver’s seat, closing the door shut, his foot pressing heavily down on the gas, revving the engine loudly, shifting it into gear and speeding down the country road.

  I flew back into my seat, relieved.

  The taxi hugged the road, soaring up and down hills, tossing me side to side, adding more bruises to my thighs, until we came to a complete and utter stop.

  I gazed out the window as Fergus entered an old pub, its paint peeling and flaking off the storefront, and then he dragged out a white furry old man whose legs were like jelly. He yanked open the back door of the taxi and threw him into the seat next to me.

  The red-faced man awkwardly leaned over my luggage toward me, grinning widely, his mouth missing a tooth or two, a strong odor of whiskey on his breath, smacking his lips loudly, slurring, “Give us a kiss…”

  I pushed him away from me, slamming him hard back against the passenger door, appalled by his presence. His hideous odor didn’t help either!

  Fergus twisted around in the driver’s seat, his arm extending out, and his hand bashing the drunk man’s skull against the window. “Keep yer hands to yerself, Da! We’re heading toward MääGord’s standing stones.”

  Fergus’ dad’s eyes perked up at the mention of the MääGord’s standing stones, wide-eyed and alert like a little puppy dog, knowing his master was taking him to the park, wagging its tail excitedly, smudging his wet nose against the window, awaiting his destination.

  “Will we see her, son?” he said in a dreamlike state, moving away from the window.

  Fergus was tight lipped.

  I watched his dad, tick off on his fat fingers, mumbling numbers to himself. “Nineteen years. Yes, should be the new moon. She’ll be…”

  “Who’s she?” I asked, cutting him off.

  “Watch out for him,” hollered Fergus from the driver’s seat, “he’s pure mental.”

  “The most beautiful woman in the world, lass,” the aged man sighed, his bloodshot eyes surveying the hillside through the subsiding rain. “Stop the car!”