Kilty Secrets

by Amy Vansant

  “I’m going to report your ass,” he said, taking his hand from his stomach long enough to point at her.

  “Whatever.”

  Catriona held out a hand toward Broch, silently asking for help removing her glove. His smirk seemed uncontrollable.

  “He deserved that.”

  “I know. Ow.”

  As he unpeeled her wraps, she felt a sharp pain run through her wrist.

  “Are ye well?”

  “I think I might have jammed my wrist on his liver.”

  Broch took her wrist in his hand and held it tight, acting as a makeshift wrist wrap. He tugged on her, just enough to make her look at him. When she did, he kissed her on her sweaty forehead.

  “Yer terrifyin’,” he whispered.

  She felt her face grow warm. “He picked the wrong day to be a douchebag.”

  “Ah dinnae ken he gits a day aff.”

  She laughed. Broch released her wrist and they walked to their area, where she removed her pads and threw her wraps in her bag. As she did, she noticed her wrist no longer ached. She moved it back and forth and side-to-side, searching for the motion that had made it twinge.

  Nothing.

  Weird.

  They gathered their things as Jake moved to his bag without saying a word. As they left, Catriona glanced back. Jake had been watching her, but he quickly looked away.

  She smiled.

  Her frame of mind had improved from the morning. The exercise and the pounding she’d given the jerk made her feel a little better about life. It was still a life without Luther, but, maybe he wasn’t really dead. Gone, but not dead. She, Kilty and Sean had all died, only to appear again somewhere in another time.

  She’d come back as a baby last time. Maybe Luther was a baby now, somewhere far in the future. Some giant, star-baby.

  The thought made her smile.

  She pushed open the gym door and marveled again that her wrist remained pain free.

  She eyeballed Broch as they walked to the car.

  “Whit?” he asked, feeling her gaze on him.

  “This might be a dumb question, but do you think it’s possible you can heal people?”

  Broch laughed. “Whit?”

  “All my aches and bruises from my fight with Volkov disappeared after we slept together.” She looked away, embarrassed by how she’d phrased her sentence. “I mean literally slept together, so close in that little bed.”

  Broch scowled. “Aye?”

  “And just now you grabbed my wrist and the pain went away.”

  “That’s nice tae hear ye ken sae, bit—”

  Catriona grabbed at the spot where Jake had pounded his sharp elbow into the back of her tender arm and felt a dull ache.

  “Right here. Is it bruised?”

  She stopped so he could inspect the spot.

  “Aye. ‘Tis darkening.”

  “Touch it.”

  “Whit?”

  “Lay hands on it or whatever. Just hold it.”

  Broch rested a hand on the spot. “Lik’ this?”

  “Yes. Hold it for a second.”

  Broch squinted into the afternoon sun. “This is mad.”

  Catriona shushed him and waited, unsure how long his magic might take. When she thought as much time had passed as the time he’d held her wrist, she pulled way and clawed at the spot with her opposite hand. She poked and pushed on it, unable to find the bruise.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  The spot between Broch’s eyes bunched. “Aye?”

  “Is it still bruised?”

  Broch inspected her arm. “Nae.”

  Catriona took a deep breath. “What do you think that’s about?”

  He shrugged and held up his hands, his gym bag still hanging across one palm. “Ah dinnae ken. Ah ken ah’m magic.”

  She chuckled. “I ken you are.”

  As they walked toward the car, Catriona felt as though she had a lot to think about. She didn’t want to have to pay attention to the road.

  “You want to practice driving?” she asked as they approached the Jeep.

  “Oan the road?”

  “Yep.” Previously, she’d only allowed Broch to drive around Sean’s lot and on obscure roads where she didn’t think he could run into trouble. Without a social security number, an iron-clad I.D., or really any form of identity other than a worse-for-wear kilt, it was risky letting him drive, but he had to know how.

  She threw him the keys and took his bag from him before he jogged to the driver’s side like a kid running to the tree on Christmas morning.

  She threw the bags in the back and hopped in to sit on the passenger seat.

  “Ready?” he asked, grinning as the Jeep roared to life.

  “Don’t kill me.”

  “Ah wouldnae dae that.”

  “That’s what all the people who’ve killed me said.”

  Broch looked at her. Catriona waited to feel the lurch of the Jeep slipping into to reverse, but it never came.

  The weight of his stare became too heavy. “What are you doing?”

  “Ah dinnae ken if ah kin bear it any longer.”

  “What?”

  No sooner did she say the word, than she saw by his expression what he meant.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  No. More than that. That look said something more.

  She felt a trill in her abdomen.

  I can’t. I shouldn’t.

  She’d just finished telling Pete how she was going to hurt Broch. It wouldn’t be fair—

  Broch touched her arm and it felt as if a fire ignited in her veins.

  Screw it.

  He leaned forward and they grabbed at each other as if they were a meal each had been denied too long.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Fiona opened her eyes to find herself in a what looked like the living room of the saddest, loneliest man in the world. Beside her sat a maroon, threadbare sofa, one cushion dark with greasy overuse. Beside it stood a chipped, light blue stool acting as a stand-in for the side table that wasn’t there. On it, sat a can of beer.

  She tried to raise a hand to rub her eyes, only to discover her arms were bound to her body by a thin but secure rope. She tilted back her head and felt it clunk on the back of the high-backed wooden chair. The chair peeked out on either side of her thighs.

  She sighed.

  Not again.

  Fiona twisted her neck to get a better view of the rest of the room. On the walls sat racks and racks of weapons. Well, racks was a strong word for the mishmash of hooks and makeshift shelving, but each DIY project protruding from the wall held a prize. Swords, nunchucks, maces, sticks she assumed were made for the express purpose of hitting people in the face, darts and plenty of other oddities she couldn’t identify.

  Because I’m not a psycho.

  She noticed what looked like a long, bamboo pole hanging close to the darts and found her attention lingering. The fuzzy memory of a parking lot returned.

  The feel of a pinprick.

  Sonovabitch.

  He shot me with a blow dart.

  He. Probably, statistically, a he. But who? It had to be Rune, but as she looked around the depressing bungalow the place didn’t feel like Rune’s house. What little she remembered of him, he’d always been fastidious. Not sloppy. Not gross.

  Who else would want to hurt me if it isn’t Dad?

  She hadn’t stabbed anyone else in the neck that she could remember.

  There is something else.

  She squinted, thinking, trying to tie together the loose ends flapping around in her muddled brain.

  Ah.

  What had happened to the doctor she’d used to get out of the studio?

  Did Rune kill him?

  It really didn’t matter.

  Unless he was in this same sad little house somewhere and could be of use again...

  What was his name again?

  “Pete?”

  She called the name, quietly at first
and then tried again and again until she was yelling.

  She heard the sound of a door closing and snapped her lips shut, unsure the person coming was the person she was hoping to see.

  A moment later, Rune walked into the room.

  “Hello, Fiona.”

  Fiona felt a strange little burst of relief.

  It was Rune.

  That still doesn’t bode well, but better the devil you know...

  She swallowed and relaxed the muscles in her face until she imagined she looked half-asleep. She hoped to appear still doped, hoping it would give her an edge should the opportunity arise.

  Think. Think. What do you say to a man you stabbed in the neck?

  She offered him a weak smile. “Hi, Daddy.”

  Rune smiled back, surprisingly enthusiastically for the black sheep daughter who’d stabbed him in the neck.

  “There’s my girl.”

  As Rune grew closer Fiona saw a jagged scar on his throat.

  Yikes.

  She’d knew she’d sunk a pen into his neck. Somehow, he’d not only survived, but completely healed in a day.

  Nice trick.

  “How, uh, are you?” she asked. She needed to get him talking so she could read his mood and divine what he wanted to hear. She was willing to say anything to get out of that depressing little room. She couldn’t even imagine how the walls had grown such a dirty off-white.

  What do you name a paint like that? Milky Misery? Awful Alabaster?

  Rune moved to sit and then, spotting the filthy state of the cushion closest to Fiona, moved to the next cushion down. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at her, smiling.

  “How are you?”

  Fiona glanced down where her arms would be, if they weren’t pulled behind her and wrapped in a clothesline.

  “I’m tied up.”

  Rune nodded. “I’m afraid that’s necessary for now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need you close.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve been spending too much time with the others and you’re letting them influence you.”

  Okay. So he doesn’t approve of the crowd I’m hanging with. Typical Dad behavior.

  “Which crowd?”

  “You know.”

  “No...”

  “Sean, the Highlander and that girl.”

  “That girl? My sister? Your daughter?”

  Rune scoffed. “She’s no daughter of mine.”

  Okay...

  Fiona forced a laugh. “I haven’t been hanging out with them anyway.”

  “Yes, you have.” Rune’s hand rose to his neck, his fingers stroking his scar. “You never would have done this to me if you were right in your mind.”

  “I didn’t mean to. You just scared me.”

  “It’s their influence.”

  “No, it isn’t. In fact, I’ve only been talking to them as a spy for you.”

  Rune’s head cocked. “What?”

  “I’m infiltrating them. I’m going to, uh...” She fumbled for the phrase she’d once used while starring in an erotic espionage film... “...collect intel for you.”

  “That’s very smart.”

  “Right? That’s what I thought. I wanted to tell you about it but—” Fiona had a thought and changed direction. “I stabbed you to earn their trust.”

  “You did?” Rune stroked the scar again. “What if you’d killed me?”

  “I knew it wouldn’t kill you. I didn’t cut through the jugular, did I?” Fiona crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that detail didn’t ruin her excuse. She’d certainly been aiming for his jugular, but assumed she’d missed.

  “You nicked it,” mumbled Rune.

  “Sorry. Sorry. That wasn’t my intention. But you can heal, right? You took care of it.” Again, a guess. He had to be able to heal. How else could he explain that scar growing in a day? If she could convince him she knew he could heal, maybe he would forgive her.

  Rune nodded slowly. “I had to eat a woman.”

  Fiona grimaced. “I don’t want to hear about your love life, Dad.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about? I said I had to devour her. Eat her like a meal.”

  “What?” Fiona felt a cold rush of adrenaline dump into her veins. She hadn’t seen that coming.

  Rune rubbed at his forehead, avoiding eye contact with her, as if he were embarrassed.

  “I mean, not eat her with my teeth. It’s a figure of speech.”

  A figure of speech for what?

  Fiona realized her mouth was hanging open and shut it for fear of what might fly into in from that repulsive little hovel.

  “What do you mean exactly?”

  “You know. When we pull all the life out of someone and use the energy to heal ourselves.”

  “Oh. Right. Right.” Fiona nodded and looked away, hoping Rune wouldn’t see she had no idea what he was talking about. If she had the power to do what he suggested, she would have eaten her idiot assistant to heal her ever-deepening crow’s feet years ago.

  “And, uh, the woman you ate. Figuratively. She’s dead now? Literally?”

  “Yes. Of course. Dust. Poof.” Rune closed his fists and then exploded his fingers outward to pantomime, Fiona imagined, the explosion of dust that had occurred after his snack.

  “Was it anyone I knew? Not Catriona, by any chance?”

  “Huh? No. She was an actress. Works with a girl named Maddie who might be helping me get to Sean and the others.”

  “Maddie,” echoed Fiona, trying to place the name. “Maddie Barbeau?”

  Rune shrugged.

  Didn’t Pete say something about the craft show co-host going missing? Someone with a stupid name...something Southern...Who was that woman Maddie was always complaining about?

  “Dixie?” she asked, the name popping into her mind along with the vision of the woman it belonged to. Blonde, big tits. Just the sort of young up and comer she hated.

  If Dad had to eat someone...

  Rune grunted. “I think so. It doesn’t matter. Do you name your food?”

  “Do I...?”

  Rune stared at Fiona, his eyes suddenly shaped by a cruel squint she’d seen before when his mood turned sour.

  She smiled. “No. Of course not, silly. I was just thinking I’m glad you chose her. She was—” Fiona was about to say a terrible person, but though Dixie was a lot of things, terrible wasn’t one of them. Too nice, if anything. “She was annoying. A goody-two-shoes.”

  Rune looked up from where he’d been staring at the crumb-littered floor and suddenly leapt from his seat to lay his good hand and his metal hand on her knees. Catriona yipped like a Pomeranian with surprise and fear.

  “Exactly.” Rune stared into her eyes. “You do understand. We have to teach these people to look out for themselves. Survival of the fittest. None of this help-our-fellow-man nonsense that only creates weakness.”

  He hissed the last word and pounded her left knee with the back of his good fist. She flinched.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.” He patted her and then leaned in, his eyes dancing left and right, as if he was about to share a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

  “There’s more of us,” he whispered.

  “Oh?”

  “This man.” Rune raised a hand and swept it outward.

  “The guy who owns this house?”

  “Yes. He’s one of us. There’s many more of us, I think. We’re going to turn the tide.”

  “Yay.” She’d been aiming for supportive but not too enthusiastic, but she didn’t quite commit and it came out sarcastic.

  “I mean yay!,” she corrected.

  Rune put her face between his palms. She tried to recoil but the back of the wooden chair prevented it.

  “I know you’re not there yet. Not with me. You used to be. For years when I didn’t understand my purpose you were still there with me. But you’ve changed.”

  “No, I am with you—”<
br />
  He moved his hands down to hold her jaw shut, pinching her lips. “You’re not. It’s all right, child. We just have to spend some time together. I need you close until the change comes.”

  Oh I don’t like the sound of that. I like me just the way I am.

  “The change?” She mumbled as well as she could with Rune holding her lips shut.

  He released her mouth. “So you’re like me.”

  “But I am like you, Daddy, already, I mean, I never help anyone…”

  Rune returned to his spot on the sofa. He sat and then bounced to his feet again. Fiona winced as he moved towards her, but he passed her to one side. She whooped as her chair tipped back.

  Rune dragged the chair to the other side of the sofa, taking a moment to move a pleather recliner with stuffing poking from the seat. He positioned her chair directly beside the sofa and then sat beside her. She understood. That side of the sofa was cleaner.

  “There. That’s better.” He plucked an ancient television remote from the table and the thick-bodied television sitting across from them sprang to life. It was so old Fiona was surprised to see the picture in color, but so blurry she could barely make out the people moving across the screen.

  No one could see wrinkles when this television was made. I could have been a bombshell into my sixties...

  Fiona cocked her head.

  What a strange thought to have when my crazy father is probably going to kill me any second.

  She looked at her father.

  Oh my god. It’s working. I’m getting even more self-absorbed.

  “So I’ll be able to eat people and heal myself?” she asked.

  He seemed surprised. “You can’t now?”

  She wondered if she should admit her failings and decided to go for it.

  “No.”

  Rune patted her knee with his creepily realistic metal hand. She noted he could move the fingers independently.

  “Then soon. Of course,” he said.

  “Will it make me younger?”

  That might not be so bad.

  He frowned. “I don’t know. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve only eaten two so far and I’m afraid both times all that energy had to go toward not dying.”

  “Two?”

  “Once when you stabbed me and once yesterday after the big black man pushed me out a window.”

  “Black—Luther?”

  Rune shrugged one shoulder. “I had to get better so I could come get you. Joseph had one, too.”