Conrad MacGregor.
There he is. The man who used me.
The man who broke my heart. The one who stole my bridle and forced me to kill, cheat, and lie for his own benefit.
I repress my tears, not wanting Charles to see my reaction.
Below Conrad's name are all his children and their descendants. I recognize a few of the older ones who also wielded power over me before the bridle went quiet. I track down the list, following their descendants all the way to the present.
The MacGregor clan didn't just flourish in America. They had generations full of children, carrying on their family's legacy.
Bile rises in my throat at the thought that all these people exist because I protected their ancestors. They are wealthy because of my lies, manipulations, and evil deeds.
I breathe through the pain of the realization and scroll up to stare at Conrad's name.
A quick perusal of the names confirms what I already know. Stanley Campbell is not a descendant of the MacGregor clan. No MacGregor ever married a Campbell.
I can't say that I'm surprised. The two clans were wretched enemies back at home. Those things tend to carry through the generations, even if no one remembers where or how the animosity began. I wonder if Stewart, being a Campbell, was killed by a MacGregor adversary. It seems ludicrous, but I tuck the possibility away.
"These aren't up to date," I remark, noticing that the most recent generation of MacGregors to be listed were born between the 1970s and 1980s.
"They are as recent as possible, I assure you. We haven't received any new information from the county's last census. Most of these records are updated by families. A few local historians take an interest in certain lines. Did you not find what you're looking for?"
"Oh," I struggle to find an answer, "I suppose not. I was just looking for the latest generation of MacGregors. I wanted to see who still lives here." Because they would be the most obvious place to start the search for my bridle.
"I can do some digging for you. Unfortunately, it'll have to wait until the fall. There's a new exhibit starting in our museum soon. All of my spare time is spent there."
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking a million questions. My defenses are still up around this man. I don't know why, but I don't want to demonstrate any interest in the exhibit.
"It's fine."
I turn my attention back to the family tree. There are hundreds of names. There's no way I'll be able to memorize them all to track them down.
Feeling defeated, I excuse myself from Charles Murray's unsettling presence. As I leave the library, I get caught up in the impossibility of my situation.
The search for my bridle is not going as well as I had hoped. There are hundreds of MacGregors. Any one of them could have the bridle. Unless it was given away.
The thought hits me like a harsh wave.
There is no way I can find my bridle.
8
-Fitz-
I take the time to rearrange my tie before knocking. I sort of regret the wardrobe choice I made this morning. The blue tie with white H2O molecules patterned all over it isn't the greatest thing to wear when investigating a drowning.
But this is my favorite tie. More than that, it's lucky. My sisters gave it to me before my interview with the Federal Paranormal Unit. It got me the job, against all odds.
And by that, I mean, against my father's insistence that I wasn't the right kind of person to work in the field.
I rap my knuckles on the door, releasing some of my anger. My father might not believe that I can be a good agent, but I know otherwise. This case is turning out to be a bit more complicated than I had originally thought. Not because of the case itself. But rather because of the beautiful woman who lies behind that door.
The door swings open and there she is. A vision of beauty and dirty thoughts.
"Hello, Agent Yarrow." Her voice is breathy and for a second, I completely forget why I've come to see her.
Sorcha is no longer wearing the green sundress from earlier today. She's wearing maroon yoga pants. The stretchy material hugs her curves perfectly. I can make out shapely thighs and calves. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she's a swimmer.
The loose black crop top she's paired with her heavenly pants gives me a view of the flat plane of her stomach. Goddess have mercy, Sorcha is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
My fingers itch to touch the smooth skin, so I stuff the offending digits in my pockets. I follow Sorcha into the kitchen, trying - and failing - to keep my eyes off her curvaceous ass. I swallow, trying to regain my composure.
You're here to ask some seriously fucked up questions, Fitz. Get your shit together.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Sorcha offers as she fills an ancient-looking kettle.
"I'd love that. Thanks for being so hospitable."
"It's entirely selfish. I need tea to soothe myself."
"Oh? You need soothing?"
"Well, you're here. And you have questions to ask me. This isn't a social call."
Damn. She's right.
"I don't mean to make you nervous," I say, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I just found some information that is..." I rack my brain for the right word. Anything I come up with will sound accusatory. "I suppose it's of some interest."
I watch as Sorcha busies herself in the kitchen. To distract myself, I take out my notebook and clear my throat. Might as well jump right in.
"You said you didn't know Stanley Campbell," I state, keeping my eyes on the notebook. Sorcha is reaching for two cups in a high cupboard. I don't need to see her creamy back as her shirt rises.
"I don't know him. Didn’t," she corrects.
I nod, wanting to believe her.
"It's the weirdest thing. He was a local historian who specialized in Scottish history. Specifically clans who immigrated here."
"That is odd," Sorcha comments, bending down to grab something from the fridge.
I want to shift into my naiad shape and lure her to the lake. Erm. No. What I want is to make sure Sorcha isn't involved in anything nefarious.
"You're sure you've never heard of him?"
"I learned his name when the police did. I had no idea this man existed before I found him."
She places a steamy cup of tea in front of me. She's also prepared a plateful of scones with clotted cream and jams.
"I have to say, in my business, coincidences aren't a thing. If things line up, there's usually a reason why."
Sorcha plops down in the seat in front of me with a wall-shaking sigh.
"There's something..." Sorcha covers her face. Her slight shoulders shake.
"Are you all right?"
I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her. Her skin feels like the softest silk. I allow myself to rub the skin gently. It's not something I should be doing as an agent. But as a man, I feel like I have to console her.
"I have to tell you something. But you'll hate me."
"Not possible." I give her my best smile.
She responds with her own, but it's a sad thing, one that is pained and forced.
"What's wrong?" With a sinking feeling, I realize two things.
First, Sorcha has been hiding something. And second, I don't want to know what it is.
"I'm here looking for something. Something that was taken from me a long time ago."
I watch her intently, but I don't quite understand what she's hinting.
"A family heirloom of sorts. I swear, Fitzroy. I've never wanted to harm anyone. I'm so very sorry for this man's death. I promise you, I didn't know him."
"Okay, back it up. It sounds like..." I have to swallow around the words. They feel so wrong.
"I'm a kelpie." Her words crash into the room.
"What the fuck?" I can't help my outburst. Anger. Confusion. Indignation. I feel absolutely stupid.
"A kelpie?" The disgust in my voice is palpable. Sorcha winces and looks away.
/>
I’m fairly certain the creatures can only kill in water. That is the extent of my knowledge on them. Heat rushes to my face. There are too many things happening in my brain. I can’t let the tears building in Sorcha’s eyes get to me. I can't let my emotions cloud me anymore.
"I'm a kelpie," she repeats, her voice breaking on the word.
All of the pieces fit together. Sorcha is paranormal and hid it from me. More than that, she’s from Scotland. The victim is a local historian specializing in Scottish clans. He drowned.
He drowned and Sorcha is a kelpie.
"Holy fuck." Again, I can't keep the venom out of my voice. I stand, the chair tipping back and falling to the ground with a loud crash. "It was you."
Sorcha jumps at the sound and I almost feel bad. I just can't quite muster any decent amount of sympathy for her at the moment. I'm too angry.
My father is right.
I don't have what it takes to be an FPU agent. I get easy, menial cases because I'm incompetent and naive. Any other agent would have been suspicious of the visiting stranger. They would’ve suspected that she was a paranormal.
Me? I didn't even think to check. More than that, I was attracted to her. I wanted to woo her. Sorcha had seemed so harmless, so distraught, so troubled.
"You killed a man." The words feel odd and don’t track with the woman standing in front of me.
Sorcha’s entire body shakes with the force of her tears.
"I didn't mean to." Her words are caught between a sob and a whisper.
"You killed a man," I repeat, pacing the length of the cabin's main room. I run my hands through my hair, over and over again, trying to make sense of this entire case.
"I was being controlled," she whispers.
Right. Likely excuse. Her explanation falls flat and we both know it.
I set my mouth in a hard line, lest I say something I'll regret, and I shake my head at her. I need a few more moments to accept that I was seriously bungling this investigation.
Sabrina told me this was a test. She told me not to fuck it up.
And here I am, drooling over the enemy like some kind of wet-behind-the-ears, green little boy.
"Someone has my bridle. I was being controlled. I didn't know what I was doing until it was too late.”
"I'm the agent assigned to the case." I take a few more steps away from Sorcha. The distance between us echoes my newfound distrust of her. "Shit, Sorcha. Are you using me? Is that why you were at the library wearing that hot dress? Is that why you're dressed like this?" I gesture toward her body.
Sorcha's sad face darkens with anger.
"How can you even ask me that?"
"I'll ask again. Were you trying to seduce me to fuck up my investigation?"
"Fuck you, Fitzroy." Sorcha is a blur of red as she bolts for the door.
"Where are you going?" I yell out to her, my tone heavy and angry.
"Out. Away. I can't be here right now."
"This is your cabin," I respond, taking large steps after her.
9
-Sorcha-
“Get away from the water, Sorcha” Fitz yells out.
I ignore him and plop down on the wooden dock. I won’t shift. I won’t jump in the water to swim away, far away. It won’t ease the pain. All I can do is sit by the water one last time before Fitz arrests me for the murder of Stanley Campbell.
His heavy footfalls make the dock shake beneath me. It feels like large waves are attacking the dock. So very much in line with how I currently feel inside.
“I just need to breathe this air before...”
Fitz comes to stand in front of me, his back to the expansive lake.
“You can’t walk away from me like that.” He’s indignant and I can’t fault him for it. Even if his accusation has hurt me.
“Because you’re an agent? Because you’ll arrest me?” My own tone is defensive.
“No. Because I am trying to understand what is going on.”
“It’s fairly simple. You’ve caught me. You’ve got your culprit. Arrest me, bring me to justice.”
Fitz watches me for a few long moments. His breath is ragged, his cheeks are red with anger.
“Why did you tell me?”
“Really? You go from accusing me one second to being incredulous the next?”
“Yes, Goddess damn it all. Why would you confess?”
“I need to pay for what I’ve done. I know that.”
“But you aren’t responsible?” he asks the question, unsure of its validity. I can help clarify that.
“No. I’m fully responsible. I’m the one who drowned the man. I just didn’t know what I was doing.”
“I don’t get it, Sorcha. What did you do?”
“Don’t you know what a bridle is? What it does to a kelpie?”
“We don’t have kelpies here.”
“When kelpies come of age, their parents gift them with a bridle. It’s usually this ostentatious affair with loads of details and embellishments. It used to be that kelpies would wear their bridles all the time. It was a sign that we weren’t just regular horses. Not that we could ever pass as ordinary horses.
“We soon discovered that our bridles had enormous power over us. If a human was clever enough to steal a bridle, he would be in complete control of the kelpie who owned it. Once a command is spoken over the bridle, there’s nothing a kelpie can do but to obey.”
I take a breath and steel myself against the next part of the story.
“I remember when I got my bridle. This huge, beautiful leather bridle. There was gold and silver thread woven into the leather. I was so happy to be considered a full-fledged mare instead of a filly. My mother told me to keep it hidden. By that point, we wore our bridles only for high holidays and important celebrations. But I didn’t listen. I had met a young man. A human. We were…”
How to explain my relationship with Conrad? With a sigh, I continue. “We had trysts. We talked about building a future together. I believed we were courting with the intention to marry. I was so eager to show him my bridle. I was so proud of it.”
I wipe away my tears in anger. I don’t want to cry when I remember Conrad. It gives that asshole too much power. Fitz sits beside me, his shoulder mere inches from mine. The heat of his body is comforting. It gives me the strength to go on. At least he isn’t repulsed by me. Yet.
“Conrad was excited when I showed him. He took it from my hands and admired it. Then he commanded me to do something. At first…” A sob steals my breath.
Fitz places his hand against my back, rubbing it soothingly. I lean into the touch, relishing it. It will be the last human contact I have before I’m arrested. The fact that it comes from Fitz is all the more meaningful.
“You don’t have to keep going.” His whisper is heavy. I nod, then shake my head.
“You have to know. Someone has to know.”
Fitz takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze before interlocking our fingers.
“I thought it was a bad joke. It wasn’t. He had been using me all along. He knew I was a filly on the verge of becoming a mare and he saw his opportunity to have a magical creature at his beck and call. He was already betrothed to a mortal girl.
“Fucker,” Fitz comments through gritted teeth. He gestures for me to go on.
“When he said, give me all of your money, I had no choice. I gave him whatever meager monetary wealth I had. Then, he moved on to get me that plot of land. I had to. I lied. I cheated. All to give him what he wanted.”
“This guy is an asshole.”
“It gets so much worse,” I respond, keeping my eyes on the watery horizon. Fitz flinches and rubs his thumb on the side of my finger. The point of contact is a searing, painful, beautiful reminder that, for the moment, I am not alone.
“All of his commands were bad. Then his greed was no longer placated by gold, land, and possessions. The first time…” My voice cracks, my mind pushing me away from the memory. “The first time, I thought I would
be able to fight him. I thought I could find the strength to disobey. He said, kill him. I fought my slipping consciousness. It was a pathetic, useless effort. Once the words were spoken over the bridle, I had no choice. I had to obey.”
“Fuck, Sorcha. I’m so sorry.” He wraps his strong arm around my waist and pulls me into his side. I melt into him. When he drops his forehead to the top of my head with a sigh, my heart sings. “It’s abuse.” His voice croaks on the words. “I wish that hadn’t happened to you.”
“Me too.”
“There’s one thing I don’t get. How did you get from Scotland to here?”
“Eventually, the bridle was passed down to his sons. I think it made its way to America. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Someone found the bridle, recognized it for what it was and spoke an order over it.”
“Whoever did it must already know it’s worked.”
“I can only assume that to be true.” A long, lung-shaking sigh turns into a small sob. “There could by another kill order at any moment. That’s why I didn’t want to come forward before. It’s not like it helped me any last time.”
“Last time?”
Fitz can’t hide the horror in his voice. This is where he’ll turn against me. He’ll push me out of his arms and I’ll be left cold and alone. As per usual.
“I’ve killed before. Multiple times.”
Fitz shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t remove me from his side.
“After the first time, I went to see my mother. I begged her for help. I pleaded with her to help me retrieve my bridle. I was so lost, desperate for her kindness. For her understanding.” A dry laugh bubbles out of me with the memory. “She said to me, bully for you. My own mother said if I was stupid enough to lose the damned thing, then I deserved whatever happened.”
“That’s not fair,” Fitz exclaims, pulling me away from him. Immediately, my skin pebbles with a shiver. It’s cold out of his embrace.
“She came from a different generation. They used to hunt men for sport. She had no qualms about drowning those who would come too close to her loch. The fact that I hated to kill was a huge point of contention in our relationship. Irony is a bitch, isn’t it?” I shake my head. “I became a reluctant assassin.”
The Kelpie's Redemption Page 5